


Persona 5: Daywatch

by Ganheim



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drama, Eventual Romance, F/M, Phantom Thief Togo Hifumi, Snark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2020-09-30 12:29:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 56
Words: 227,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20447177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ganheim/pseuds/Ganheim
Summary: Stumbling across the wrong enemy, Kurusu Akira is banished to Tokyo by his own father. Always on guard, taking an umbrella brings him into Ann, Shiho, and Yuuki's orbit just in time for a spectacular disaster. What begins as a near-suicidal quest for vengeance becomes a desperate attempt to turn the pieces of his life into an honest whole. Aided by clever strategists and opposed by supernatural puppeteers, one lost boy's quest for something greater becomes a set of bonds firmer than any family he ever knew. Hopefully those bonds are stronger than those that would think themselves gods over the rabble, or demons within.Contains AU elements.





	1. April 9th, Unpleasant Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Castle's Tall Tower was a sample preview of Daywatch. This expands considerably beyond the deviations hinted at there. I'll keep spoilers to a minimum because I plan to finish this story, but this will not be a regurgitation of the game we all know and love. If you're reading this, you've probably already played it. This will expand or twist every scene, and while some will follow the canon more closely than others there will be no regurgitation of the game script. You all deserve more than that. This Akira is mouthy and active in a way the (near) silent protagonist doesn't allow the scenes to flow, so expect the ripple effect to go from his change and another one we'll get to when he arrives. Certain aspects of the game were handled in a weak manner and I plan to challenge them for a stronger narrative. Prime among them is what I consider the poor writing for Akechi, so they will be diverging from an early childhood point.
> 
> This story was written to chapter 50 before Royal came out, so while a couple small elements from that will be incorporated, it will not be following Royal.
> 
> There will be references to a particular take of Persona 4, but Daywatch will remain firmly focused on Persona 5. Depending on interest, I may go back to write that as a prequel. Thanks for leaving your thoughts and criticisms in a comment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story will largely be a Divergence, but there will be some AU elements. Enjoy, and thanks to all reviewers.

Persona 5: Daywatch

Saturday, 9 April 2016  
Afternoon  
Yongen, Leblanc

In the quiet residential neighborhood of Yongen, Tokyo, a dark-haired teenager came to a stop at the door to Leblanc. The sleepy cafe lacked any lit-up advertisements, even a sticker identifying which kind of wi-fi it hosted.

Akira brushed a hand through his curly hair and straightened the thick glasses on his nose before pushing the door open. A small bell fixed to the inside of the door jingled. Worn, mostly wood interior had an old-time feel like many of the old buildings Akira lived in. It used a minimalist décor, but warmer than industrial-style buildings like the Smiling Mountain Institute. The thick scent of coffee soaked into him, reminding him of the tiramisu his mother would order. Identifying the manager by the only occupant wearing an apron, the teenager shifted the duffel bag strap on his shoulder, then straightened his gloves and strode to the register where the cafe worker lounged. “Sakura Sojiro?”

The middle-aged man looked up from _The Prisoner of the Tower_, a small book in his hands. What black hair hadn’t already receded was slicked back, making his goatee seem larger in comparison. “Oh, right. That was today.” He set the book down underneath the counter.

Laughter bubbled up from a group of three young adults as they rose from a booth further in, and the three men trotted to the exit, one of them pausing to raise a hand. “Thanks for the coffee, Boss.”

Sojiro gave a show smile, something wide enough for Japan’s near-obsequious service industry, but thin enough to use as little of his face as possible. “We appreciate your time.” He waved back, watched them go out, then dropped slack the instant the door swung closed. Looking to their place, three coffee cups and a plate with crumbs spilling over the table waited for him. After letting out a heavy breath, he picked back up the book and opened it up with the traveling boy in his peripheral vision. “So you’re Kurusu Akira?”

He twitched in distaste at the use of his family name. Not buying the feigned disinterest, Akira gave the expected bow for any new introduction. “Sorry for the trouble.”

Sojiro’s eyebrow rose and he looked up from the paperback, no effort to conceal either his suspicion or interest now. “I wondered what kind of unruly kid would show up.” He jammed a time-yellowed receipt as a bookmark and set the book back under the counter. “You’re more polite than I expected. You’ll be in my custody for the next…”

“Year,” Akira said, scanning the rows of coffee shelved behind the counter. “According to Officer Ichijou.”

Crossing his arms, Sojiro harrumphed. “You seem pretty calm about moving and living with a stranger.”

Still scanning the back wall, Akira responded, “Anything’s better than back there.” Finished with his visual inspection, he focused on Sojiro. “I’m just curious how you knew me. Officer Ichijou said you were a friend of the family.”

“I knew Waka…” Sojiro cleared his throat. “You know what? It doesn’t matter.” He headed for the small hallway at the back of the cafe. “Walk this way.”

Taking a loping gait after him, Akira threw back, “If I could walk that way—”

“Don’t get cheeky,” Sojiro snapped over his shoulder, then led him up the stairs. “I’ll bring up sheets for…” He turned, eyebrows rising at the youth’s pulling bags of refuse together. “What are you doing?”

“What?” Akira looked down, settled the two bags in his hands, then set his duffel bag next to the shelf crammed with coffee sacks. “Sorry, I can’t stand a mess. Anything reserved?”

“I don’t care about the books, bags, or boxes,” Sojiro said, hands going to his hips as he watched Akira’s attention leave him and return to the inanimate objects around him. “But if you throw out the ladder or any of my spare tables or chairs, I’ll boot you.”

Akira wiped a finger down the planks of the wood flooring and shuddered. “Do you have a clean broom for this room?”

Sojiro’s left eyebrow rose. “A _clean_ broom?” He pointed in the corner, across a dilapidated mixer to a broom that looked as old as the last World War. “Just sweep up.” He drew his keys and held them up. “I’ll lock up when I leave each day. Don’t do anything stupid just because nobody’s here to keep an eye on you.”

Akira let go of the latest bag of trash and snapped straight, arm coming up at precise angles and palm out to give a picture-perfect British salute.

Sojiro’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t be cute. Officer Ichijou may have argued for you, but she said you’re here because you butted into an adult’s situation.”

Akira’s salute fell and his lip twitched. “He was assaulting a terrified woman. How was I supposed to know who the drunk was before I stopped him?”

A long-suffering sigh emanated from the middle-aged man, though the look in his eyes felt considerate instead of condemning. “Either way, that’s what happens when you stick your nose into someone else’s business. You _did_ injure the guy,” he finished, setting hands on his hips.

Clenching his teeth, Akira growled. “_And_ Inuri High expelled me.” He clamped his eyes shut, sucked in a deep breath, then blasted it out through his nose before going back to cleaning. “At least the court really did send me away from the old bastard.”

Sojiro’s arms crossed. “That’s no way to talk about your fath—”

The garbage bag hit the ground and Akira took one stomping step at Sojiro, finger pointed like a weapon. “That bastard is _not_ my father.”

Sojiro’s eyes narrowed. “You should be a little more considerate of the only link between you and Wakaba.” Uncrossing his arms, he took a quarter turn to the stairs. “Just don’t cause any trouble and don’t say anything. A restaurant lives and dies on its reputation. As long as you behave yourself, you’ll only have to put up with this for a year. After that, your probation is lifted and you can file whatever motions you want with the court.”

Akira set the bag down in a neat grid with the others by the table next to the stairs, and swept the open swath of floor.

Waiting a moment for eye contact, Sojiro gave up with a quiet sigh. “Make sure you’re ready to go to Shujin Academy tomorrow morning. They never mailed your ID and said they want to be sure your paperwork is finalized.”

Akira spared him a confused glance. “I already got the uniforms. What else do they want?”

“You’re on thin ice already. I don’t think it’s unreasonable that they want a proper introduction before you start class.” Sojiro put his hands on his hips, fingers tapping for a moment. “It’ll be… First thing Sunday. Are you going to need to do anything?”

Akira paused, a garbage bag in each hand. “I _would_ be going to Mass since it’s Easter season, but they hold it in the morning.” Setting them down against the tidy arrangement of trash bags against the stairs, Akira dusted off his gloves before reaching into his time-worn jacket and drew a fat envelope. “Father Motoori gave me this for Father Sugiyama.”

“Sugiyama?” Sojiro’s eyes widened.

Akira looked the middle-aged man in the eyes. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

“He…” Sojiro’s eyes drifted to the bottom of the stairs, “buried Wakaba.”

Akira’s shoulders slumped. “I… sorry. I didn’t—”

“Don’t get any wrong ideas,” Sojiro said, turning to the stairs. “Just be sure you’re ready to make the trip up to school tomorrow. Once you get your transit pass from them, you can handle your own travel.”

Saturday, 9 April 2016  
Evening  
Yongen, Leblanc Loft

Akira grunted, standing the ladder against the corner near the stairs. With several more square meters of floor open and swept, he sloshed the mop in the bucket and attacked the dusty floor.

The stairs creaked as somebody paced up, a purposeful but measured gait. Sojiro watched for a moment, his eyebrows raised. “You were serious about cleaning.” He looked to the corner. “Looks like you prefer your bed against the wall.”

Keeping his focus on the floor even as his back complained, Akira threw back, “I can’t stand a mess.” Reaching the end of one stretch, he kept his feet on the dry floor and returned to the mop bucket. “I’m assuming by the flat tires the bike is an abandoned throwaway?”

For some reason, Sojiro smiled. “It is, but for Shujin you’d be just as well walking to and from the train station.” He folded his arms over his chest, sweeping his gaze over the room and the stack of unsorted books on the table by the stairs. “Hm. This place doesn’t look so bad.”

“A professional is neat and tidy,” Akira said, attacking another lane on the floor.

“If you’re trying to make a good impression, I think you already have your start.” Sojiro watched the boy clean in determined silence for several long seconds. “Don’t forget to get some rest so we can get to your school on time tomorrow.”

Akira stopped to jab at a dark spot multiple times.

Sojiro’s brow furrowed. “Fine, if you get sick, I’m not going to look after you. You’ll be—”

“I’ve been on my own my whole life,” Akira snapped, returning to longer sweeps with the mop. “This is just a bigger flat to do it in.”

“Oh!” Sojiro snapped his fingers and trotted downstairs with a little more energy than his entry, coming back up a few moments later. He set something leather-bound on top of the nearest stack of books on the table. “Here’s a journal. You’ll make a complete record of your daily activities. You’ll turn it over to me whenever I need to make a report to social services.” He folded his arms over his chest again. “Don’t trust that your social worker will skim over, actually fill it in so I have something to report.”

Akira continued mashing the mop over the floor. “Just as long as Father Sugiyama doesn’t have to read it. I’ll already be doing Hail Marys for skipping Mass tomorrow.” He stopped and lifted the mop, making a face at the dark water dripping from it. When he noticed Sojiro still standing there at the top of the stairs, he asked, “Something else?”

The middle-aged man adjusted his glasses, then relaxed. “You may be on probation, but since you don’t have a special conviction like computer crime there’s no special limitations on anything in particular. As long as you follow the law.” With that, he turned and went downstairs.

Akira swirled the mop in the dust-muddied brackish water in an effort to rinse it off. Letting out a deep breath, he pulled his phone out to step back his alarm in the morning. A bleeding eye icon sat on his grid of apps and Akira tilted his head. “I wonder what update that came with?” Sniffing at the scent of dust and old books, he put the phone away, picked up the mop, and trotted downstairs to change the water.

Saturday, 9 April 2016  
Night  
Location: Unknown

Akira opened his eyes to blue crushed velvet. Confused, he reached out to brush a finger against it and check whether it felt like what he saw. Before his arm got halfway, he noticed the salvaged large shirt he wore to bed replaced by a black and white striped shirt. At least it wasn’t hot. Sitting up, he realized all his clothes were replaced by the silly striped uniform. Glancing to his side, he spotted bars. “Oh, this is just ridiculous.”

Chuckling echoed from beyond the bars and Akira turned his focus from the prison cell to its source. A bald man with wild tufts of pale grey hair sat behind a fine wood table. The stranger wore a crisp tuxedo that only served to enhance the eeriness of his wide, bloodshot eyes and the longest nose he ever saw. “Welcome to my Velvet Room. I am delighted to make your acquaintance. This place exists between dream and reality, mind and matter.” The well-dressed stranger folded his hands. “I am Igor, master of this place.”

Akira stood up, trying to ignore the chains linking his wrists or ankles. “Nobody who’s truly a master of something needs to stop and say it. Now why do you fear me so much you need me behind bars?”

A blond child in a corny blue warden’s uniform stepped out from his right and whacked her baton on the bars, sparks zipping between the contact. “Know your place, Inmate!”

Akira shot her a dirty look.

Igor’s smile thinned. “This place is a reflection of _your_ heart. Are you a prisoner of society? Fate itself?” He took his hands apart, resting his chin on one. “You stand on the cusp, but will you have the strength to stop the impending ruin?”

Akira approached the bars, noticing a similar kid-wannabe-warden on the other side. Keeping his focus on the man behind the desk, he gripped the bars and pushed out to test their strength. “If you’re trying to make a veiled threat, you’re going about it the wrong way. The only way something in the future is assured is if _you_ do something.”

Igor chuckled, unperturbed. “Do not be afraid. It may be possible to oppose fate, perhaps even rehabilitate your way—”

Akira snarled. “Yeah, I’ve already seen what ‘rehabilitation’ does to prisoners and psych ward patients. You might as well be honest and call it a lobotomy. ‘Mental reprogramming’ is just a set of words to make yourselves feel better about it.”

Igor chuckled, something incongruous about the well-dressed man finding something amusing about the phrase ‘mental reprogramming’. He straightened just a little from his drastic hunch. “Such spirit! Perhaps you may yet find the resolve to challenge the world’s distortion.”

Rankled, Akira tightened his grip on the iron bars. “I have the resolve to take on anything, old man.” He glanced down to one child, then the other. “So, who’s Oxymoron?”

A soft but pleased chuckle floated out of the tuxedoed man. He held a hand to the costumed kid on Akira’s right, “Caroline, and Justine,” he finished gesturing at Akira’s left. “They shall be your wardens.”

Akira pulled at the bars. “_Nobody_ keeps me prisoner, so _nobody_ is my warden!”

“Struggle all you like, Inmate,” the eerie girl with a blindfold over one eye said.

“If you insist,” Akira snapped. He yanked at the bars, but they held fast.

Igor’s grin only widened. “This shall be a most interesting ‘rehabilitation’. I shall look forward to seeing what power you choose to awaken. Shall you seek your own world, or will you seek other thieves to use?” The long-nosed man let out a laugh with all the depth of his voice. “In time, young one.”

Sunday, 10 April 2016  
Early Morning  
Yongen, Leblanc Loft

Grinding his teeth at the irritating buzzing, he fumbled for his smart phone and shut off its alarm, then put on his glasses to check and see if it decided to go off an hour early like his body claimed it did. No such luck. “Damn, didn’t I get _any_ sleep?”

A clatter sounded downstairs and the ‘first thing in the morning’ business at Shujin leaped to his mind. Akira scrambled to get into his Shujin uniform, getting his long-sleeved shirt on and trousers up before Sojiro strode up the steps. Hopping on one foot to try to keep his balance, he hit the bookshelf crammed with thick books and binders, knocking over the broom.

The middle-aged man looked over the polished floor of cleared space. “I’m surprised you’re up…” His gaze paused at the broom. “You _did_ sleep, didn’t you?”

Akira zipped up his school uniform and picked up the black jacket. “That’s what I’m trying to tell myself.” Heart still beating fast and hands aching to land fists on someone, he shook his head to push away the strange dream. “I thought I’d be able to get a peaceful night’s sleep now that I’m outside.”

Sojiro crossed his arms, an eyebrow rising as he looked over the transfer student. “Outside?”

Akira’s face heated up and his stomach twisted at the humiliating days past. “Never mind. If we’ve got to go, let’s go. Shujin’s in Aoyama, right? Yongen-Jaya to Shibuya, then transfer Ginza to Aoyama-Itchome?”

“Something like that, but I’m driving.” He held up a finger as if making a stern point was necessary. “Just for today. I don’t want to take the chance we have a problem with the subway.” Sojiro headed back to the stairs, muttering before descending, “Sheesh. Men usually aren’t allowed in my passenger seat.”

Akira buttoned his jacket. “Wonderful. I finally get out of the asylum and my caretaker is a nut.”

Given the standoffish, naked hostility from Sakura Sojiro, Akira turned and stared out at a city looking more like a rat maze with thick crowds of people rushing about anywhere cars didn’t choke the streets. Either he picked up on Akira’s overwhelmed state, or Sojiro didn’t feel like talking past one quip, so the trip passed in as much silence as one of the world’s busiest cities would afford.

Pausing just before the front gates of some school with “Shujin” on the sign out front, Sojiro turned on Akira and set his hands on his hips. “Do me a favor and behave yourself, all right?”

Akira played up the offended innocence. “Just because I usually _don’t_ behave doesn’t mean I don’t know how to.” At the restauranteur’s flat stare, he straightened. “Right. No stand up in the halls. I understand.” He snapped one foot against the other, standing at attention and gave a British salute.

“Just… don’t be yourself,” Sojiro said, sounding weary. “I don’t care what happens to you, but I don’t want to have to clean up anybody else’s mess again.”

“Again?” Akira’s mocking salute fell.

Sojiro whipped around and marched Akira up to the school principal’s office.

The obese man in a Dijon-yellow suit leaped straight to the expected rhetoric. “You’ll be expelled if you cause _any_ problems.”

Staring straight ahead, Akira drew his heels together with a click and stood at attention. “Sir!”

Kobayakawa looked down at a manila-sheathed dossier, his frown deepening the folds on his face. “I understand you have a history of fighting and infractions that never led to charges pressed in your hometown, but you _will_ behave yourself here.”

Akira stared straight ahead, letting out nothing but a curt and clear, “Sir!”

Kobayakawa paused, his feigned officious anger losing the battle to bewilderment before he looked away from Akira. “Well…” He swiveled his seat to a woman in a yellow shirt. “This is Kawakami. She will be your homeroom teacher.”

She gave a brief incline of her head. “Kawakami Sadayo.”

Akira turned to her with a click of his heels and snapped a thirty-degree bow. “Kawakami-sensei!” He rose with the same swiftness.

She took a set of paper envelopes from the stained-wood desk and handed them out. “Here’s your student ID and your authenticated transit pass. Make sure you read the instructions, it might be different from the buses and trains where you came from.” After Akira took both, she shifted back just a little. “Violations will result in a trip to the guidance office, so read the school rules and _don’t_ repeat your behavior from the last schools. We call this Shujin _Academy_ for a reason. If you have any problems, I won’t be able to protect you,” she said in a manner that sounded very much like ‘I wouldn’t even bother trying.’

Akira clenched his jaw for a moment to hold up his façade-for-the-moment. In the same snappy, professional tone he stated, “You will find that a new environment has an enormous effect on performance and behavior, Kawakami-sensei.” He snapped his right hand up at a sharp angle, palm flat and out against his eyebrow, then dropped it.

“W-well,” Kawakami said before retreating a step toward the principal, then leaning closer to whisper not quite low enough, “I thought he was a regular student, not a transfer from a military school.”

“He _is_ supposed to be a regular student,” the pudgy oaf complained. He swiveled back to Akira. “Oh, relax, boy. You’re making _me_ feel tired.”

Akira snapped his hands behind his back, feet spread to shoulder width and back still straight as a meterstick.

Granting Akira no shred of attention, Sojiro gave a tired, “If that’s all? I have a business to run.”

Kobayakawa cleared his throat and feigned the least believable smile the transfer student ever saw. “Thank you for keeping a close eye on him.”

Sensing the end of the demeaning meeting, Akira snapped back to attention with a click of his heels, bowed, then came back up and returned to rest.

Kawakami rubbed at one eye for a moment before saying, “Come to the faculty office tomorrow and I’ll show you your classroom.”

Sojiro led the way out of the office, but failed to conceal a sense of tension which burst at the entry hall when he towered over Akira and snapped, “What was all that in the office about?”

Akira slid a foot back and bit his tongue to try to keep a grip on his temper. “At least I held back the urge to snap up an arm and shout ‘Heil Kobayakawa’,” he said along with a click of his heels and right arm held out. The transfer student fell back into a relaxed pose. “Besides, the best thing to do when you’re in an unusual situation is to smile. It confuses people.”

Sojiro rolled his eyes. “Ugh. Let’s just get going.”


	2. April 11th, Meet Blue

Persona 5: Daywatch

Monday, 11 April 2016  
Early Morning  
Yongen, Leblanc

Sojiro looked up from a cup of hot coffee as Akira trotted out in a crisp Shujin uniform. “You’re really going to school.” He scrutinized the youth.

Akira shot him a hooded gaze. “Your faith in me is touching. Surely I must be on the fast road to rehabilitation.” He held up his hands wide. “Welcome, glorious civilization, here I come!”

“Don’t get smart,” Sojiro snapped, eyes narrow as he set a plate of curried rice down on the counter. “Just sit down and eat before customers start coming in.”

Akira pulled up the bar chair, clasped his hands in prayer, then dug in. He jerked away. “Wow, this is good curry. As in _really_ good.”

Sojiro crossed his arms and struggled to look neutral, but the corners of his lips quirked up.

Despite the amazing flavor, the limited time pushed Akira to scarf down his first breakfast in Tokyo before pushing away. He gave a swift bow. “Thanks for the meal.”

Sojiro’s left eyebrow twitched, but he retained that watchful, neutral look. “Maybe you really _do_ have manners after all. Hurry to school. You’ll be late if you get lost.”

Akira pulled his smart phone out and read the screen. “Weather report said there was a chance of rain. Do you have a spare umbrella?”

The middle-aged man shook his head. “Sorry, you’ll have to buy one at the station.”

Akira looked into his wallet. “I have four hundred yen, plus a thousand in the account. That should be enough.”

Snorting, Sojiro shook his head. “You sure are new to Tokyo. No way are you going to find an umbrella for less than three thousand.” When Akira’s expression took a turn for the murderous, he opened up the register. “Here, two thousand, five hundred yen.” When Akira’s fingers closed on the bills despite his dubious expression, Sojiro held on. “This isn’t a gift, this money belongs to the shop. You’ll pay it back as soon as you can. You can start by flipping the sign open for me.”

Monday, 11 April 2016  
Morning  
Aoyama

Akira trotted out of the station, coming to a stop under the first convenient business awning to pull out his phone and read the map. “Shit. There’s no way I’m going to get there on time.”

His scanning the map for a faster alternate route halted when a shapely set of legs and a little bit of black pleated skirt poking out from a white hoodie walked into his downward-directed view. The slim girl came to a stop under the same awning and brushed water off her damp sleeves. Her shoulders shifted from a weary breath, then she reached up to pull her hood down. Smooth, ash blonde hair cascaded down and Akira’s breath hitched in his throat. Even through the warm hoodie extending past her waist, he could tell her curvaceous frame.

“Yes?” She asked, the controlled tone of somebody impatient but trying not to sound rude.

Akira opened his dry mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “I-is that a Shujin uniform?”

Her pretty, pale blue eyes flicked over him before fixing on his, the mask of indifference drawing back a little from the porcelain-skinned beauty. “Uh… yeah. Same as you.”

Kicking himself for making a bad impression with the prettiest girl he laid eyes on, Akira blurted, “Sorry, I’m Akira. I’m a new transfer.” He reached over the hand holding the umbrella. “Could you show me a fast way to Shujin Academy?”

Her blue eyes bore into his for several seconds before she reached for the umbrella, fingers not closing over it. “Takamaki. Even if we run, we’ll still be late.”

Akira adjusted the angle, inviting her to take the handle, allowing a confident smirk over his face. “Trust me, I can keep up. We used to practice parkour back home.” He waited a moment for her to take the umbrella, and followed her at a strong run all the way to Shujin. She went one way as he turned for the office.

While she wore a lighter, orange-striped yellow shirt today, Kawakami looked almost identical to yesterday. Her hair and expression both looked frazzled, and she turned a cool glare on him. “You skipped the whole opening ceremony. Fashionably late may work in the country, but we expect punctuality in the city.”

Akira fought to keep a snarl off his face. This wasn’t Inuri High anymore, the only person to embarrass was himself. And if Sojiro was any indication, he’d have nobody to turn to. “The train lines have all been fouled up with that accident yesterday. I was expecting to be half an hour early.”

She looked at his empty hands. “Didn’t you even pick up your books?”

“No, Kawakami-sensei. I came straight here to check in.” He bit his tongue to keep from throwing out ‘like you asked yesterday’. People didn’t like being reminded they asked for something unnecessary.

Her pen shot out, scratching out a signature on three separate forms in quick succession. “I don’t have time for excuses. Let’s just go.” Collecting her binder, she led him to class 2-D. When another student tried to slip in behind her, she shot him the evil eye.

Akira took his spot up at the front for the requisite introduction of the transfer student. The almost twenty students chattered amongst themselves.

“_That’s_ the guy? He looks so normal,” somebody in the middle of the room said.

Akira quirked an eyebrow, but held his tongue.

Kawakami plopped her binder down and came to a stop behind the front desk. She sounded as tired as she looked when she more pleaded than demanded, “Everyone settle down.”

The back door slid open and another girl and boy slunk in, taking seats in the corner of the class behind Ann. Kawakami gave them both a good glare before continuing, “I understand some of you may have had problems with the subway. I expect you to adjust as needed. We start regular classes tomorrow, so there’s no leeway time.” She paused for a tired breath out, lifting a lazy hand in Akira’s direction. “This is our transfer student. Introduce yourself.”

Despite the weak beginning, he took a piece of chalk and wrote his whole name. People just asked more questions when he tried to drop the family name entirely. Done, he bowed to the class. “My name is Kurusu Akira. Please call me Akira. I look forward to attending school with all of you.”

“Maybe it’s one of those ‘beware the quiet ones’ types,” one of the girls near the middle of the room said.

Ignoring the strange chatter, Kawakami waved her hand at empty seats near the middle. “Go sit down there for now. Share with somebody’s books until you pick up yours.”

Akira slipped in and sat down in front of a dark-haired male with his uniform suspenders hanging slack at his sides. It felt like everybody’s eyes were on him as Kawakami begain routine administration. “Who’s the class rep today?”

The boy behind him stood and gave a brief bow. “Mishima.” As the teacher wrote, he called out, “All rise.”

Monday, 11 April 2016  
Lunchtime  
Shujin, Cafeteria

Belly growling, Akira stepped into the cafeteria and took in the scent of soy and fish, splurging on the grilled fish lunch.

“Look out, I hear that guy’s with the creeps in Shibuya.”

Akira paused, glancing around for the source of the muttering, but the amount of movement made it impossible. Nobody met his eyes and most scurried away from him. Muttering under his breath, he glanced for candid cameras. This treatment would make sense if he was still at Inuri High, but he hadn’t made a terror of himself here. Finally, he spotted somebody who didn’t look away. The blond bombshell he met at the train station, sitting across from a pretty girl with a black ponytail. Akira slid over to a seat on the other side of the table and pasted on a smile. “Hi. I’m surprised to see nobody else already sitting here. Do you mind?”

“Wow, first day and he’s already hitting on Kamoshida’s bitch? He really must be looking for an early grave.”

A snarl flashed over Ann’s face.

The transfer student gave a polite nod to the dark-haired girl next to Ann. “I’m Akira.”

The dark-haired girl gave a shy smile and Akira’s stomach flipped. She looked him in the eye, gathering her courage. “Suzui Shiho. Are you… really the transfer student?”

Wondering what her tone meant, Akira decided to play it off as if people weren’t giving him weird looks. He thrust out his chest and smirked. “Yeah. I finally escaped from the boonies.”

Ann squared her shoulders. “But it’s nice out in the country, Kurusu-san.”

His hands tensed on his chopsticks. “Would it be too much to ask to call me Akira? Just Akira is fine.”

Shiho’s phone chirped and she snatched it up, reading the incoming text. Her mouth twisted in embarrassment, but also curled up at the corners. She looked up and across the room until meeting eyes with Akira’s class representative. Her stance softened and she beamed a soft smile that made the whole room seem warm and pleasant.

Swallowing at the sudden butterflies in his stomach from eavesdropping on a lovers’ silent exchange, he coughed into his hand and struggled to think of something to say before something stupid came out. “So, um… I heard this place has quite the athletics program.”

Shiho looked at him, seeming pleased with herself. “Oh, yes. The volleyball team’s been to the national championships for the past four years in a row. Last year we even won.”

Akira tapped his fingertips on the table a couple of times. His ‘sports’ back at Inuri High tended to involve running from the police. Father Motoori was clear he needed to leave those things at Inuri. “Um… good for you.”

Ann looked offended for some reason. “That’s all?” She crossed her arms, elbows on the table. “Shiho-san was even on the team then.” She flashed a smile filled with haughty pride at Shiho. “She’s even one of our starters when we go to nationals in a couple weeks.”

Shiho’s shoulders drooped and her head fell enough for the overhead lighting to look like it cast deep shadows in her eyes. “It’s not so big a deal. After all, volleyball and Yuu-chan’s all I have.”

“Oh,” Akira said, looking up from his fish. “I didn’t want to demean your role or anything. It’s just that when I looked up the school website last week, I didn’t see almost anything in the way of fine arts programs or recreational clubs.”

Shiho sat back in her plastic folding chair, eyes rolling up in thought for a moment. “Well, that would be more Kosei High. We’re an athletics and academic place.”

Akira pursed his lips. “I’m just not looking for a sports program. Father Motoori said I should use this change in venue to apply a little more of my mind and a little less of my muscle, and he’s always given me good advice in the past. I’m studying to be a chiropractor.”

“Really?” Shiho said, looking Akira over with the first undiscriminating curiosity he saw since setting foot in Tokyo.

“Yeah,” he looked down at his food, trying not to blush at the first sign of interest from a pretty girl. The fact that she had such bright, soft eyes only made it harder. “My family would never allow me to do anything outside of medicine, but I don’t want to be a researcher. I’d rather help heal people. Chiropractics is something that’s small-scale and cheap enough that I can be easily approachable, but also can offer the weary and pained some immediate relief so I get to see my patients walk away with a smile.”

Ann raised an eyebrow, scanning him as if expecting a disguise. “Are you for real?”

“Why?” Akira shot back, free hand curling into a fist and his right tensing on his chopsticks. “Is there something strange about that?”

Shiho gave him a genuine smile. The kind that nudged her shoulders up and made her eyes sparkle, besides making the whole room seem warmer. “Not at all, I think it’s a very good goal to work towards. It’s something good for society and good for you.”

Akira swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry and butterflies dancing in his stomach, knowing he lost the battle to keep the blush from his face. “Thanks, Suzui-san. Say, do one of you want this?” He held up a plastic-wrapped pink-frosting-covered dessert.

Ann opened it by the time he realized she swiped it from his fingers. At least she smiled as she said, “Donations of sweets are _always_ appreciated. Maybe you’re a good guy after all.”

Akira swallowed a large chunk of grilled fish, deciding while good it wasn’t worth the yen. “Well, if volleyball’s really the only thing going on, should I come by and watch one of the practice games? It’s not like we have a chess or medicine club.”

Shiho tensed. “No!”

Akira blinked and glanced around, wondering what happened. “Huh?”

Ann flashed a plastic smile, her shoulders and body posture indicating general anxiety like Shiho but also hostility aimed at himself. “She means you should get settled in before you try to join a club. Keep your eyes open, you know?”

Akira shrugged and picked up another bite of sushi rice before looking back at Shiho’s slow settling down. Once she seemed back to normal, they settled into meaningless small talk and Akira felt a smile on his face.

Monday, 11 April 2016  
After School  
Shujin, Hall near North Stairs

Pacing out from the student guidance office with his books, Akira adjusted his school satchel and headed down the stairs for what he thought was the library. Before even getting halfway to the first floor, he saw Ann trudging out from class 2-D. She angled for the stairs when a tall, muscular man in a white shirt and dark blue track trousers walked up to her from the hallway further down. “Hey there, Takamaki.”

Ann’s leg twitched, shifting her weight to the balls of her feet and her body angling away from him.

He either ignored or took no notice of the stark change in her stance. “I saw you running to school with that transfer student.”

Ann’s shoulders pinched up, her fingers clenching over her book bag. She shifted, still refusing to look him in the eyes. “Oh, was that him?”

The muscled, towering man waved an arm, something a little too practiced about it to be genuine dismissal. “And I heard he was with you at lunch. Be careful around him. He’s got a criminal record. Assault, I hear.”

Her attention perked at that, though she cringed with it. “I see.” She shifted the strap of her book bag, and Akira noted his opaque blue umbrella still tucked into the bottom loops.

The tall man reached a supplicating hand toward her. “You look tired after a long day. Could I give you a lift home?” He reached his hand out to take her shoulder, only managing the lightest, briefest of touches.

Ann flinched, a brief tremor passing through her body. She angled her face and body even further away, not quite daring to let him out of her peripheral vision. “Sorry, I have a photoshoot today. It’s for a summer issue, I can’t afford to miss it.”

The towering man let out a sympathetic sigh even as his torso tightened with impatient annoyance, stark lines appearing at his neck. “I feel bad keeping your best friend at practice so often. That’s why I asked you out in the first place.”

Somebody stopped next to the stairs below him, and a young female voice asked, “Oh, hello.”

Akira stumbled away, trying not to look like he was eavesdropping.

A girl with curly, auburn hair stood there in a pink cardigan. She held two large books between her hands, and sent him the same wary look as most students had been all day. “Are you lost?”

Akira paced down to the first floor so he at least stood on the same level as her, and slid his hands into his pockets. “Uh… no. Just getting a feel for the school’s layout. It’s different than the last one.”

The girl scanned him, holding her books against her chest. “You’re the transfer student?”

He knew he shouldn’t be surprised that most students knew there was a transfer student, but this sounded like yet another instance of everybody hearing about him and having some strange expectation where they preferred to avoid him like a leper. He pushed on a nervous smile. “That’s right. Name’s Akira, second year.”

The girl inclined her head, standing straighter. “Haru, third year.”

Akira leaned against the wall nearby, keeping his eyes on her. He wondered why she didn’t give her full name like normal introductions, but if he was going to do his damnedest to distance himself from his name, who was he to deny her the same right? “Do you mind if I ask you a question, Haru-senpai? Since you’ve been attending here for the past two years?”

She gave a wary nod.

“Why does everyone seem so skittish here?” Akira brushed a hand backwards through his hair. “I’m not especially surprised about all the rumors – we’re all teenagers, after all – but it’s like everyone’s looking over their shoulders. And a bunch of people keep giving me this look like they’re expecting something to happen.”

Haru’s shoulders drooped and she clutched her books tight to her chest. “Oh. W-well, I don’t like to gossip,” she stuttered.

Akira bit down a ‘bullshit, you’re a teenage girl’.

“I’m sure most of it’s just the pressure,” she explained. “Shujin Academy _is_ a somewhat prestigious academic school, and a lot of the student body are probably just concerned about keeping up and earning a letter of recommendation to their first choice college.”

Akira rotated his shoulder to work out a kink. “So there’s nobody I need to watch out for or anything?”

Her eyes fell. “O-o-oh, I don’t know.”

After scanning her nervous posture, he couldn’t decide if she was just that timid or if something else was up. He gave her a self-deprecating smile. “Just me, then. That’s okay, Senpai. Thank you.” Snapping straight, he gave her a picture-perfect British salute and marched away.

Haru watched him leave. “That wasn’t what I expected of him.”

Monday, 11 April 2016  
Late Afternoon  
Yongen, Leblanc

Sojiro wiped a wide circle over the counter, stopping when the bell tinged. Looking up, he saw Akira trot inside with a dark book bag. “So, you _did_ go to school today.”

“Nope,” Akira said back with a flat tone, “I spent all the time at arcades with those fat stacks of cash I smuggled in.”

Sojiro sighed, wondering if the kid was always this mouthy. “Just… don’t get into trouble. There’s already plenty of eyes on you waiting for you to slip up.”

Akira’s shoulders fell and his gaze hardened. “Right. Because it’s so easy to be a model citizen even when people back up and give me room to fucking breathe.”

As Sojiro tried to think of a way to tell the kid to just let things pass by, his phone rang. Recognizing her number, he answered and listened for a moment. “Okay, okay. Just give me a minute to lock up.” Closing the call, he turned a hard look on Akira. “I’m heading out. _Don’t_ go wandering around.”

Akira grumped right back. “Fine. I still haven’t finished cleaning upstairs.”


	3. April 12th, Words Between

Persona 5: Daywatch

Tuesday, 12 April 2016  
Morning  
Aoyama Station

Akira trotted out of the station, coming to the dull cityscape of Tokyo under a mat of grey clouds. While not excited to get to Shujin Academy, he couldn't think of any amusing diversions. Before getting far from the stairs to the train station, he spotted a distinctive pair of blond pig-tails. Speeding up, he confirmed that yes, it was the hot girl from the other day. "Morning, Takamaki."

She turned on him with a jerking motion, her hand drifting down her bag to the matte-blue umbrella still slipped through the under-loops. "Oh, h-hi."

He came to a stop and blinked at the tension in her shoulders and suspicion in what should be pretty blue eyes. Straightening, he tried to keep any sign of emotion out of his voice. "I hope my umbrella was useful yesterday."

Ann looked at it as if it bore her every sin in writing, her eyes narrowing and face twisting in a disgusted embarrassment that seemed far out of proportion with forgetting to give a stranger back his umbrella. Cringing, she pulled it out and offered it. "Oh. Sorry, here."

"Thanks." Taking it, Akira gave a show smile she ignored. When she turned back to Shujin without a further word, he couldn't keep all his indignance down. Frustration crept into what should've been concern and he sped up to keep pace with her. "What the hell is your problem?"

"Huh?" Ann's eyes flicked to him, and her pace stepped out a little to keep ahead of him. She spared him only a glance before turning her eyes back to the sidewalk ahead.

"You're acting different," Akira snapped, feeling a little too much like a lawyer in a courtroom drama. He sucked in a deep breath to keep his cool, reaching back for a nice moment when Ann and that gorgeous volleyball player with the kindness of a saint shared lunchtime with him. "I thought you didn't mind my presence when I sat down next to you and Shiho-chan at lunch. I'm still kind of new here, and when I first saw you it was raining and I was late to check into the faculty office so I didn't stop for all the usual greeting niceties."

"No, that's not it," Ann threw back, still avoiding eye contact before she stepped out her stride and maneuvered around two salarymen.

Akira sped up, bumping into one of the snaggle-toothed men in his efforts to keep up with the determined blonde. "What did I do _now_?"

"Nothing!" Her fingers clenched and back straightened before she took off at a solid jog.

Growling, Akira wondered what got into her. After a moment of shifting from foot to foot, he decided against chasing her and reached into his jacket for his smart phone and the map function.

Tuesday, 12 April 2016  
Lunch  
Shujin, Courtyard Nook

Akira sat down at the lonely table tucked away in Shujin's inner courtyard. Setting the bento purchased from Muramasa Grocers, he set his chopsticks on top and clasped his hands in prayer. After closing his eyes, he took in a deep breath, trying to exhale all the things he heard people say about him in the hall.

"Oh," a familiar feminine voice said, "would it be okay if I had lunch here?"

Akira looked up, the name Shiho springing from his memory as he looked up into her deep, warm, brown eyes. He felt his frame tighten as he prepared to move. "Oh, go ahead. I didn't know this spot was taken."

Shiho plopped down on a different bench nearby, flashing him a weary but still beatific smile. The kind that didn't just sparkle in her eyes but made her shoulders rise and seemed to light up the shadowy corner. "It's just a quiet, out-of-the-way spot." She let out a whoosh of air before digging out a plastic tupperware stuffed with rice and vegetables. "And I could use one of those. Were you meditating?"

"Praying," Akira said, unsure whether he was agreeing or correcting. He took his chopsticks and tore the plastic film off his lunch. "Father Motoori said I should do it more often. It's supposed to be good for our hearts as well as our relationship to God to bring Him our troubles and wants." He gave a self-derisive smirk and opened his mouth, wondering what was making him so chatty. "I guess I could use some work with that."

Shiho's smile waned, concern edging out some of that beautiful warmth. "Having trouble with all the rumors?"

Heat having nothing to do with the April humidity wrapped around his throat and he averted his eyes. "A-a little."

Her tupperware popped as she pried the lid off. "Try not to worry about the things people say. Soon enough they'll find something new to gossip about. Ann was in a similar situation and she had to persevere, too."

Akira gazed at her, unable to find any angle in what seemed genuine unselfish kindness. His eyes traced the smooth curve of her jaw as she opened and closed it around her food, the way her black ponytail jostled when she swallowed. A faint sigh leaked out of his mouth. "Your boyfriend has no idea how lucky he is."

Shiho shot ramrod straight, looking at him with wide eyes and a grain of rice falling from her open mouth. "W-wha?"

Akira blinked, feeling dizzy from the sudden change in mood. "Your boyfriend." He snapped his fingers a couple times. "I can't remember his name. My class rep, the one you gave that 'you're special to me' smile yesterday."

The color drained from her face and a piece of something fell backward in her throat. Suzui slammed her chopsticks into her lunch and gripped the edge of the table, hacking against the rice.

"Shiho, there you…" Ann said, trotting up from the Academic building before a look of concern tensed her shoulders. "Are you okay?" She jogged to the table and glared at Akira. "What did you do to her?"

He raised his hands in confusion. "Is it supposed to be a secret that Suzui-san's got a boyfriend?"

Ann's eyes snapped wide and she rounded on the other girl, a touch of pale creeping into her face. "You _told_ him?"

While Shiho kept hacking, Akira's eyebrows raised at the panic in the blonde's tone. "I didn't think it was that hard to figure out. Why are you both acting like this is the end of the world? I get some couples like to keep things on the dee-el. I won't tell anyone."

Ann planted her free hand on her hip in what would've been a cute pose if it wasn't held by a snappy bitch. Just for good measure, she threw a renewed glare at him. "You better not. Kamoshida's harsh enough when he _doesn't_ think we're 'distracted'."

Shiho tore the cap off a small water bottle and drained it.

His left eyebrow rose. "Who's Kamoshida?"

"Just the volleyball coach," Shiho answered just a little too quickly.

Shoulders pinched up and arms crossed, Ann watched the black-haired girl for a moment of concern. Then stepped between her and Akira. "Just make sure not to screw things up for Shiho. She worked too hard to earn her starter position and as her best friend I don't want _anything_ to mess that up."

Akira held up his hands again, trying not to make a bad impression in front of Shiho no matter how much he wanted to throttle the blonde. "I'm only trying to get through the day. I'm not here to trip up anyone else."

Pressing her hand against her sternum and unintentionally tightening her shirt over her breasts, Shiho coughed out the last rice. "It's okay, Ann. I think he _does_ mean well."

Stepping aside, Ann's stance fell into a slouch before she looked back to Akira. "You can see how fast rumors fly. We can't afford to let anything happen." Her eyes drifted to her volleyball friend. "You deserve everything you can get."

Tuesday, 12 April 2016  
After School  
Shujin, Courtyard Nook

Stretching back against the bench, Ann froze when her phone rang. Turning a little from Shiho, she took it out just long enough to glance at the screen for caller ID. She slipped it back into her pocket without answering or cutting the call, letting it keep ringing in her pocket.

Shiho tilted her head at the blonde. "You're not going to get that?"

Ann gave a stiff smile. "Oh, it's just my part-time job. Nothing to worry about." She turned away, muttering, "It has to get better." When heavy footfalls drew close, she looked up at Mishima, her eyes widening a little at the bruises under his left eye and along the right side of his face.

Mishima stopped and drew in a breath as if the journey from the practice building took all he had, sparing only a glance at Ann. "Shi-chan. Kamoshida told me to get you. You should get going."

Shiho's arms closed around her school satchel. "What did he say?"

His eyes clenched, his left eye twitching. "Just please go before he finds out you were still here."

Shiho turned to her longtime friend and swallowed hard. "Ann, I…" She looked up at Mishima, who held a serious, patient stance. "Thanks, Yuu-chan." She gathered her bag, stood up and dashed for Shujin's front gate.

Tuesday, 12 April 2016  
After School  
Shujin, Front Gates

Akira pushed open the door, trying to pick a snark to throw out at the person ahead who let it close in front of a line of people. Stepping outside, the humidity punched all the way down his windpipe and he decided it wasn't worth yelling at someone if he couldn't get his hands around the jerk's throat. Then he stumbled from some unlucky fool running into him. His hand lashed out to grab her, but he froze when he saw the girl attached to it was Shiho. Surprised, his grip went slack and she bolted into the city.

"Good thing she's fast, I heard he's got a knife," one of the male students said as Akira paced towards the cityscape. He wondered who tipped them off.

"Keep your distance," a girl's voice hissed. "If you get close to him he'll only ruin your life."

Akira kept walking, trying not to show how much the last one stung.

"Don't make eye contact, he'll drag you into a dark alley and stab you."

He ground his teeth to keep from responding, "No, I'll only stab _you_." By the time he passed through the gates proper, his fingers pulsed from the strain of clenching his satchel.

Tuesday, 12 April 2016  
Late Afternoon  
Yongen, Leblanc

The little bell above the door rang and Akira ground his teeth to hold in the urge to punch the happy-sounding piece of metal.

Sojiro, reading a newspaper behind the counter, looked up. "So, you're back."

Stomping his way in, Akira snapped, "Sorry to disappoint."

Sojiro set the paper to the counter, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Knowing he just stepped in it, Akira stopped and clamped his fingers over the back of one of the bar chairs. The leather groaned under his grip and he leaned against the chair for support. Despite his efforts, his arms trembled. Following Father Motoori's guidance, he drew in a long breath, then blew out a long breath, keeping his eyes focused on an indistinct point ahead of him. "It's been a long day, Sakura-san."

Sojiro straightened. "You haven't been getting into trouble, have you?"

Akira whirled on Sojiro, but nothing breakable sat in easy reach. Somehow, the tiny logical part of his brain that knew he had nowhere to go if Sojiro kicked him out clawed its way to the fore and he spoke instead of reaching for a sugar shaker. "Somebody leaked that I have a record. Now there's only one person at school who treats me like a damn human being." Standing up from the chair, Akira let out a long breath. "I need to go running." He jogged up to his room and changed.

He heard a musical tune play as he walked down the stairs in his exercise outfit, a black tank top and baggy black shorts tied with a drawstring.

"…told you," Sojiro said from somewhere in the kitchen ahead. "It's just a part-timer I hired." He met gazes with the student as Akira paced out from the hallway, phone still by his ear. While Akira couldn't make out the words, he could hear a female voice from the other side. Sojiro covered the microphone and looked Akira in the eyes. "How long are you going to be out?"

"Until I'm done," Akira snapped before his brain could find the reigns for his tongue. Withering under Sojiro's glare, Akira looked at the floor. "Three or four hours."

A long, uncomfortable look passed as Sojiro scrutinized the boy before lifting his phone and taking his hand from the microphone. "Okay, fine. I'll be there in just a few minutes." Hanging up, he turned to Akira with a look of wary understanding. "Inokashira Park's only a short ride away, though you'll have to buy round-trip fare." Crouching under the counter, he fiddled with a few things, then came up and set a key down on the counter and gave Akira a stern glare. "This doesn't mean you can just go around anywhere at night. I just have better things to do than keeping watch over you. Make sure you lock up any time you're out. And if anything's missing—"

"I'm no thief," Akira snapped, pride unable to take any more. When Sojiro nodded at that and walked out, Akira stood staring at the key for a minute before swiping it and heading for the door.

Tuesday, 12 April 2016  
Evening  
Inokashira Park

Akira huffed in and out through the mouth, breath heaving in a harsh but regular pattern as he dodged around people, then leaped over a bench. Artificial yellow drew his eyes and he spotted another runner on the path, this guy wearing a red shirt declaring _Pow!_ to go with his bad blond dye-job.

The other runner held eye contact through the crowd for only a moment before an unspoken signal passed between them and he smirked. His eyes narrowed and he accelerated.

Dodging around another couple meandering down the path, Akira leaned to pour on the speed and catch up with Blond.

Red shirt smirked and pulled ahead.

Akira narrowed his eyes at the back of Blond's red shirt.

A park custodian pushing a trashcan-laden cart trundled into his path. The man stared like a deer at an oncoming train.

Too much inertia to stop, Akira leaped, springing off the cart, over the man, and tucking into a roll to come back to his feet. Once he got his eyes back on the crowd, he growled when he noticed Blond still ahead and accelerated.

Blond glanced over his shoulder, then spotted Akira coming alongside. Blond nodded in acknowledgment, pumped his arms, and pulled ahead.

Akira leaped over a fallen log at the side of the path, spotting a thin space in the trees at the main path curved around. Making eye contact with Blond, both smirked at the other and focused on the race ahead.

Akira dodged between trees, surging out of the thin copse just in time to see Blond rush ahead of him, still on the main path.

Akira stumbled to a stop, bracing against his knees as he breathed. "Damn, that guy's fast."


	4. April 13th, Part 1, Into the Tower

Persona 5: Daywatch

Wednesday, 13 April 2016  
Afternoon  
Shujin, Gym

The rubber of fresh sports shoes squeaked against polished wood panel flooring. For lack of anything better to do, Akira scrolled through the mobile version of the school’s website for any sign of who leaked his record.

Somebody in a male gym uniform plopped to the floor next to him, his scratchy voice blurting, “Hey, you’re that guy sprinting at Inokashira.”

Akira looked over at the student next to him, his eyes shooting to the dyed-blonde hair. While the hair screamed ‘delinquent desperate for attention’, he remembered that undeclared race yesterday. Anybody that good at running deserved recognition if just for the running itself. He slipped his phone into a pocket to turn his full attention to the strange student choosing to sit next to the ‘dangerous criminal’. “And you were that red shirt.” He raised a few fingers in a tiny wave. “You’ve got some serious speed and endurance.”

“Ryuji,” bad dye-job said with a modest shrug that ran counter to his delinquent appearance. He leaned back against the painted brick wall. “And I’m not as good as I was before. Used to be on the track, before Master Asshole there,” he gave a nod at Kamoshida, weaving between teachers in the ongoing game, “destroyed the team.” A snarl pulled Ryuji’s lip up, exposing pointed teeth and a familiar hate. “Couldn’t take any competition with his precious volleyball.” After a moment, Ryuji tore his glare from Kamoshida and loosened up as he focused on Akira. “I guess you’re that transfer student.”

“Akira,” he said with a nod before leaning closer to stage whisper, “Just to warn you, I’m even _scarier_ than the rumors.”

Ryuji snorted, but a smile split his face.

A larger movement than before drew Akira’s attention to the game. Kamoshida made a leap taking him almost a meter off the floor. Something passed over the coach’s face – a snarl? A feral grin? – too quickly for Akira to judge, but his eyes locked onto one of the students and he spiked the ball straight into the class representative’s face.

Akira leapt to his feet. “Mishima-san!” He dashed to the fallen student. When Kamoshida ducked under the net, Akira repositioned to put himself between the coach and his classmate.

Kamoshida looked down at the bruised student. “Is he all right?”

Mishima stirred under the would-be chiropractor. A faint groan leaked out of the class representative’s mouth. Mishima’s eyes clenched, then opened and gazed up, unfocused.

Akira let out a relieved breath. “He’s bleeding. He hit his head and was unconscious for at least a few seconds. I think he may have a concussion.”

“Take him to the nurse,” Kamoshida snapped before turning back to the court.

Akira’s fists clenched and his legs tensed to stand and unleash retribution on the callous coach when Mishima reached out, balance wobbly.

The transfer student slung Mishima’s arm around his shoulder and stood. “C’mon, Mishima, talk to me.” His eyes traced over fading yellowed splotches as well as bruising he hadn’t seen since he got into street brawls even before Inuri High. “Damn, are you sure you just got hit with one ball? You look like you went ten rounds with Big K.” He angled for the door. “Do you know where you are?”

Mishima slipped and his head lolled to one side. “Coaching?”

Akira pulled until Mishima stood on his own legs. “Hey, stay on your feet. One foot in front of the other.” Once they got moving, he smiled in relief. “There you go.” They passed through the doors and into the deserted hallways. “Do you know what day it is?”

Mishima let his head fall forward, eyes clenched shut. “No more.”

Concerned about the lack of cognitive communication, Akira couldn’t keep his volume from rising. “Talk, Mishima. Stay conscious.” He grit his teeth, before admitting under his breath, “C’mon, I don’t actually know how to treat head injuries.”

“I…” Mishima flinched, but at least maintained pace. “No. Just don’t hurt Shi-chan.”

Akira froze, the door to the nurse’s office looming mere steps away. He looked at Mishima’s injuries, the bruises on his hands and arms. “Oh my God. Has he been doing this to you because you and Suzui are a couple?”

Mishima’s eyes cracked open, unfocused, then slipped closed again and he flinched away. “Th… the special coaching…”

Flashes of bandages and haunted gazes on no few male students passed before Akira’s eyes. “What kind of…” His teeth ground. “How has he not been reported and fired yet?”

Mishima picked his head up, eyes focusing on Akira. “Transfer?” He jerked, then tried to pull away and vomited on the tile floor.

Akira scrambled to get him into the nurse’s office, a heavyset woman looking up at them from the desk inside. “Possible concussion,” the transfer student explained in a no-nonsense tone. “Volleyball hit his face and the back of his head hit the ground. He’s only starting to regain lucidity and threw up just outside the door.”

The nurse reached for a pen light in a drawer. “Was he unconscious?”

“Ten to fifteen seconds,” Akira yielded his class rep to a chair next to her desk. “And still pretty out of it the three-ish minutes it took to walk him here.”

Finished checking his pupil reaction, she pulled on gloves and shone the light into his hair. “Thank god this one was only that long.”

Akira’s breath caught in his mouth for a moment before he blurted, “_Only_?” His hands curled into fists. “Concussions can result in permanent behavioral and learning disabilities. He needs to be at a hospital!”

The nurse kept her eyes on Mishima and continued scanning his scalp. “Leave the medicine to us, honey.”

He stepped closer anyway, tone rising. “If he takes another head injury like that, it could do _worse_ than kill him! Do you _want_ a mental vegetable at this school?”

Mishima’s unswollen eye widened and his face paled.

“Don’t you worry about it,” the nurse demanded, still bent over the bruised student. “He just needs some rest.”

Akira clapped a palm to his forehead. “How many other people had to be escorted in here after _special_ coaching?”

The nurse stood straight, eyes shooting left and right before looking away from Akira. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Akira blinked, staring down at the woman trying to shrug him off. “Then you condemn the next person to even worse!” Fists stuffed in his pockets, he stormed out and around the vomit. “I need answers, and there are only two people who’ll give them to me.”

Two students gossiping at the side of the hall stared at him but failed to wait until after he passed out of earshot to return to their conversation. “I heard he almost killed someone.”

“I heard he’s working for those thugs in Shibuya.”

Akira stalked through the halls, thrusting his hands in his pockets to resist the urge to throw a punch at the next morons who bandied rumors behind his back. With more students coming out of their games, the halls started to sound more like normal. At last, he spotted a flash of natural blond and broke into a run after Ann, bulling past a girl with a braid-style hairband.

She shot him a glare, but he ignored her in favor of catching up with Shiho and Mishima’s mutual friend. Finally reaching her just before the opening to the third floor, he snagged Ann’s wrist.

She whipped around at him, her other hand raised to swing back at him. When she realized it was him, her hand dropped and her stance relaxed but her glare held some heat. “What do you want?”

“I want some straight answers for once,” Akira snapped back. He let go of her hand and both glowered at each other like yakuza daring the other to draw the knife first. “When I took Mishima to the nurse’s, I spotted a _lot_ more bruises than any sports practice.” His eyes narrowed. “Somebody’s using him as a punching bag.”

“He’s…” Ann’s eyes fell away and her fists tightened. “No, Shiho’d tell me if somebody was going after him.”

“Would she?” He leaned even closer, which only brought his eyes lower given the step she stood on. He tried to ignore the prominent chest right in front of his thick glasses. “Would she tell you everything about some guy she’s,” Akira clapped his hands flat together, “that tight with? Maybe even _that_ way?”

Ann’s posture regained its confident hostility. “She… We’re best friends, have been since middle school.” Her eyes, which had been boring a hole through his, slid to the wall. “She works so hard and I can’t… I can’t mess up something she loves almost as much as, maybe even more than Yuuki.”

Alliance Force Assemble sang out of his phone and Akira whipped it out to cut the call, snarling, “Shut up!” Fumbling to put it back, something red came on the screen before he shoved it back in his pocket and looked Ann in the eye. “Who would be that against her being romantically involved?”

Ann turned a little further away and she crossed her arms. “I don’t know if it’s about _her_, but…” Her lip curled into a snarl and her hands fisted again. “Kamoshida.”

Akira blinked, unable to place the name. “Excuse me?”

She turned to him, eyes blazing with fury and posture all set to fight. “Kamoshida Suguru.”

A twang sounded from his phone, but he held gaze with the angry young woman in front of him. “What, does he have an iron-fisted rule here in Shujin Academy?”

Another twang played, and only seemed to make her more pissed off. Her sneer grew, and her fisted hands swung down to her sides. “You don’t know anything about that pervert. It’s not just Mishima.” She took a step down to him, almost nose-to-nose now. “_Everybody_ here is like some… serf in his own private castle.”

Another twang played, but before either one could say anything, a computerized voice stated, “Match found. Target Asmodeus. Beginning navigation.”

Both of them queried in confusion. Red swam before Akira’s eyes and the world twisted like a collapsing acid trip. A grandiose, carpeted spiral staircase replaced the efficient, squared stairwell. Anger at her bleeding through even as he stared at the stonework, he snapped, “Wha? Where is this?”

“That’s what _I_ want to know,” she shot back with no less anger. She crossed her arms and glared. “Did you drug me?”

Akira whirled on her fist cocked back before he caught himself. He snarled, “Oh, don’t flatter yourself, _princess_.” He glanced up and down. “Where’s the door to the hallway?”

Ann leaned down over the railing to peer into the dark below, then up. “I don’t see any light down that way, but I do see something up there,” she pointed.

Akira blinked and forced his fists to open. “Shouldn’t that be the roof?”

“If it was the school,” she snapped at him as she turned for the stairs up. “Does this really look like Shujin?”

Grumbling, Akira followed her up the stairs as they spiraled up much higher than Shujin before opening to an ornate hall with whitewashed walls and a polished stone tile floor covered with a thick, red, hall-length rug. Glistening sunlight streamed in through giant windows, but something about the angle set off alarm bells. “Is it really getting to twilight already?”

Ann spun on him, hands on her hips. “We’re in some weird-ass palace and you’re worried about the _time_?”

Akira advanced on her, doing nothing to hide the snarl pulling at his lip. “I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on by any clues I can pick up.” He pointed at the windows. “That’s not early afternoon sunlight.”

With neither having anything else to say, they advanced to a three-meter-tall polished oak door. When Ann hesitated, Akira felt his own confidence waning and burst inside just to keep her from seeing his hand shaking.

Soft reds, pinks, and browns dominated the expansive room. Scattered around with a total lack of neatness lay oversized pillows and the girl’s volleyball team in various states of undress.

Ann’s anxious meekness vanished and her trembling hands curled into fists as she stomped after him. “What the hell is this?”

Akira threw up his hands defensively. “Don’t look at me! I’m a cuddler, not a groper.”

One of the girls gave a sensual moan and batted a curled hand at him with a hooded, expectant gaze that made him glad Shujin’s gym uniform had baggy pants. He jerked away.

Ann, scanning the room, froze. Her eyes snapped wide and her face paled. “Sh-Shiho?”

“Huh?” Akira said, following her gaze to a round waterbed near the center of the opulent room.

Suzui Shiho crawled to the edge of the waterbed on all fours, wearing nothing but tight gym shorts. Locking eyes with Ann, she sat back on her heels for a moment. “It’s the princess!” The volleyball player threw herself backwards on the waterbed with a happy groan, her breasts jiggling at the impact. “He must be pleased if he’s going to take us all today.”

Ann gaped, her face stricken with horror and fear, but her posture screaming rage. “Shiho! What are you doing?”

Shiho pouted for a moment, then her eyes slid to Akira. She gave a sultry grin and reclined on her side, displaying every curve. “Did the king send you to get us ready?”

Ann shot a look to her side, spotting an Akira still frozen in fascinated horror. She snapped, “Don’t look, you pervert!”

“I’m not!” he protested, then slammed one hand over his eyes. Fighting just to control his breathing, he shouted, “Would somebody just tell me what’s going on?”

Shiho turned a hooded gaze to Ann but remained spread out across the edge of the bead. “You’re not here just to show off, are you? Just because you’re his favorite…”

Ann jerked away, one hand grabbing the two sides of her gym jacket closed even as a blush spread across her horror-stricken face. “W-w-what?”

Akira took a single stomp towards the bed, hand still clamped over his glasses. His other hand clenched in a white-knuckled fist, he roared, “What the hell is going on?”

The doors burst open, and an enormous man decked out in metal armor strode in. Gasps echoed from the girls as they scrambled to the walls to give him a wide path to Akira.

Ignoring them, the knight looked at the students in Shujin gym uniforms. “Who dares to intrude in the king’s pleasure chambers?” His gaze stopped on Ann. “Princess? What is My Lady doing outside His personal chambers?”

“Princess?” Scandalized, she turned the full force of her sexy anger on the plated man. “_Personal_ chambers?”

The knight sheathed his sword and trotted up to Ann, reaching a hand out. “Come with me, My Lady. I shall escort you back to His Highness’ bedchambers.”

Akira hopped between them, shoving at the knight’s arm and having about the effect of a stiff breeze. “The hell are you taking her any—”

The knight backhanded him with a very solid metal gauntlet, sending Akira spinning and blood flying from his split lip. As Akira caught himself on the edge of the waterbed, the knight loomed, “Know your place, slave. If you’re not in the Training Hall of Love, you should be doing only the task His Highness ordered you.”

Shiho crawled to him and brushed his hair out of his eyes now that his glasses weren’t there to obstruct his gray gaze. She cooed, “It’s useless to resist. Aren’t we all here at the pleasure of the king?”

Face still smarting and head still pounding from the blow, he stumbled back in between the armored man and Ann. “Get away from Takamaki-san and Suzui-san.” Eyes remaining locked on the knight, Akira ground out to the girls, “Go on, get out of here.”

“Insolent knave!” The gauntlet snapped forward, grabbing Akira by the throat and lifting him off his feet. “The king deserves all things. You should be pleased to be permitted to serve him.”

Gagging against the crushing grip, the transfer student slammed his fists against the solid metal.

“Akira!” Ann cried out. After a moment to settle her stance, she shoulder-slammed the knight, bouncing off him. She rubbed her shoulder against the sensation of having rammed a wall.

The knight glared down at her. “You wait your turn, princess. It shall be your honor to service the king later.”

Spots forming in his vision, the blows of Akira’s fists weakened.

“Do you yet understand, slave?” the knight snarled. “If you cannot serve the king by pleasure, you shall serve him by pain!” It hurled the boy to the ground.

He crumpled, curling up and coughing. Flecks of blood dirtied the tile floor.

“Akira!” Her hand still holding her shoulder, Ann took a step to him, then stopped and turned back to her friend. “Shiho, come on! We can save you! Just come with us!”

The room darkened and both schoolkids cringed when harsh voices floated at them from no-where.

“If you can’t do it, you’re useless!”

“Nothing matters if it doesn’t succeed.”

Akira struggled to his knees, still bracing on his hands, and coughed. Flecks of blood flew from his split lip. He brought a hand to his head, grimacing against a pounding, burning pain.

“Hey, look,” a boy’s voice mocked. “It’s the lab freak’s son. You gonna lock us in a dark, scary place and make monsters come out of us?”

“_Thou art I_,” a deep but calm voice said through the swirl of accusations.

“Everything you touch gets ruined!”

Akira clenched both hands over his head, his breathing ragged and feeling like millions of hot needles stabbed him all over.

“Stay away from that troublemaker,” a woman’s voice snapped. “Those types will only drag you down.”

“_I am thou_,” the calm voice cut through the storm of accusations again.

“Useless boy, how can anybody take you seriously if you make mistakes in such petty things?”

Fingers already sliding through his hair, his hands clamped tight and he pulled, desperate to let out the searing pain and impossible pressure in his skull. Arching his back, he howled in agony to the ceiling.

“You’re a monster born from a monster!”

“There is no buddha,” a high man’s voice spat, “or god or anything out there to save you. If anything pulls us from the coming ruin, it shall be _me_ and _my_ research!”

Slammed with a sudden numbness, Akira’s hands slid away from his head and fell to his side. “And God went ahead of his people in a pillar of darkness during the day to shelter them and a pillar of fire during the night to guide them.”

Hot winds whipped through the ostentatious room. Deep red flames licked over his face, leaving a mask. Reaching up at the sudden sensation of weight, Akira pulled at the mask and his own skull tipped forward. Bringing up both hands, he dug his fingers in as the pounding inferno in his head returned with a vengeance. Desperate, he heaved at the mask, blood dripping down his cheeks. Screaming in pain, he ripped the mask off.

Red fire roared over his body, leaving a high-necked longcoat. The swirling winds whipped into a scalding gale, sending pillows hurling through the air and the knight crashing all the way against the wall by the door.

The knight pushed itself to its feet and drew its sword. “What manner of trick is this?”

A vortex of darkness and flame churned between them, as if fire and black smoke condensed into a near-liquid density and twisted into a pillar rising all the way to the vaulted ceiling.

Akira stood, a calming numb spreading over him. “Pillar of Heaven, destroy our enemies!”

Hot winds whipped around, sending pillows tumbling again, but concentrated on the knight. Darkness gathered under the armored man and roared up in a torrent, leaving dissolving black smoke.

The pillar vanished into the ceiling and Akira collapsed to the tile.

“Akira!” Ann shouted, dashing forward to help him off the floor.

Akira blinked and turned a bleary gaze to her. “Is he gone? Are we safe?”

Confused beyond anger, she retorted, “You idiot!” She clamped a hand on his arm to hold him up. “What the hell was that? You scared me to death.”

Akira swayed, but forced himself to stand on his feet. “What exactly happened?” He looked around the cavernous room edged in gold. “What happened to the girls?”

“Shiho!” Ann spun around, her foot taking a step to the waterbed of its own accord. Scorch marks marred the floor in jagged lines spiraling out from where the pillar formed. Gaping for a long moment, when she spoke her soft voice was filled with trepidation. “She… they’re all gone.”

Akira, realizing something about himself felt different, reached to his face. Hissing in pain, he tried again, avoiding the part of his face still pulsing from the gauntleted back-hand. Fingers coming to his cheekbone, they ran up, then around his mask. His eyes snapped open and he let out a gasp. “My glasses!”

Ann glanced down, snatching them up and presenting the split frames to him. “Easy, they’re right—”

Continuing to explore the mask with his gloved fingertips, a smile split his face. “I can still see!” When she lifted the glasses up at him again, he took them anyway. Turning to the door back out, he took one step and wobbled.

Ann caught his arm to steady him again. Raising an eyebrow, she set her free hand on her hip.

Catching her silent inquiry, Akira answered, “Takamaki, I’m nearsighted like you wouldn’t believe. I’m practically blind without my glasses.” His grin grew wider, revealing the even rows of his pearly whites. “Or I _should_ be.” Shaking his head, he wavered more and leaned against her support. After slipping his broken glasses in his pocket, he turned back to the tall oak door. “Well, there’s no other way out of this room and the girls are gone. I say we bug out before another one of those knights comes in.

“But… Shiho,” Ann started, eyes unfocused as she paced alongside him. “I put up with so much for her sake.” The corners of her eyes glistened. “How could she…?”

Taking his head in his hands, Akira let out a groan. “None of this is right.” Walking, he paused to pull the door open, then stepped out on his own. Besides the rug, nothing interrupted the hallway from the stairs to a shorter, gold-plated door further down. “So, back to the stairs and hope down goes somewhere? Or out those gold-lined doors?” He paused and looked down the hand he just pointed with, specifically the red glove. “Did you change me?”

She left a hand on her hip. “You did that.”

“I don’t remember that.” Looking down, he checked out his current garb and smiled. “Oh, man. The old bastard would flip if he knew I had a swankier longcoat than he did.”

She spared him just a quick glance. “I guess it’s not a bad style. For you.” Ann lifted a finger to her chin. “Oh, I just had an idea.” Jerking both hands up in fists, she shouted at the top of her lungs, “Let’s get out of here!”

Leading him to the stairs, they heard metal clacking up the long, winding stone. Turning around, they both bolted the other way down the hall.

Three knights came out just before they reached the red oak door again. One pointed its gauntleted hand. “Intruder!”

Another drew its sword. “He’s trying to abscond with the princess.”

Racing as fast as they could run, both students reached the gold-plated doors and hauled them open, dashed in, and slammed the doors closed. Panting, both collapsed against the doors for several seconds.

Looking around, Akira wrinkled his nose at the gaudy space. Three walls glistened with mirror from floor to ceiling, and all across the length. A giant canopy bed dominated the center, gossamer curtains flapping in the breeze from an open window.

Akira spit at the bed. “And I thought the old bastard was tacky.”

A bang sounded through the door and both students froze. Akira pressed his ear against the door.

“I’m not going in His Highness’ chambers, _you_ go in!” one of the knights whined.

Ann trotted to the wall with windows and closed the open one, slowing as she looked at the dozens on dozens of portraits of girls on the wall. Some were edged with silver, some framed in gold. Coming to a stop, she snatched a silver one off the wall as her face contorted in anger. “What the hell? I’ve never worn a slingshot bikini!”

Covering his nose just in case, Akira approached to confirm the wall was covered with photos of the girls’ volleyball team in provocative swimsuits and lingerie. While all of them smiled, the eyes of many remained tense with fear.

Ann gasped, then ripped a gold-framed portrait off the wall. “Kiriko-senpai!”

“Who?” Akira said, coming closer.

Ann clutched the portrait against her chest and turned away from Akira. “She was one of the volleyball starters last year. Everybody loved her. She was smart, and beautiful…” She turned back to Akira, looking down at the picture. “Then overnight she became a recluse. Just stopped talking to everyone. She transferred out at the end of the semester.” Her brow furrowed. “A lot of her clubs disbanded.”

Ann hurled the pictures in her hands to the floor, earning the sound of broken glass. “Who would do something like this?”

Akira blinked, his eyes drawn to a gold-framed photo of Shiho, giving a come-hither gesture while wearing lacy lingerie that hid almost none of a bust that seemed larger than he remembered when they sat down together in the courtyard.

The golden doors banged open and Kamoshida stepped in, cloaked in a long, red velvet cape and followed by two knights, one in golden armor. The gray knight snarled, “Filthy vermin!”

It slowed a few paces into the room, visor stopping on Ann. “Princess? What are you doing in such rude attire?”

Kamoshida scoffed, the small gold crown on his head sparkling. “How could you mistake _that_ for _my_ Ann?”

Ann’s mouth drifted open. “Ka… Kamoshida-sensei? What have you done with the school?”

Another Ann wearing a micro-bikini came to a stop next to Kamoshida, leaning closer as if begging him to touch her. Akira swallowed, feeling like his own pants shrank.

The Kamoshida in strange garb scoffed at her. “I am king of this castle. I do what I will, and all serve my desires.” He lifted a hand to stroke the scantily-clad Ann’s cheek, revealing nothing beneath his luxuriant cape but a hot pink speedo.

Akira threw himself to his knees, hands over his face. “Oh, God, my eyes! Somebody, please cut out my eyes!”

Smile falling to a thin line, Kamoshida glanced to the gray knight. “You, execute him.” Flicking his eyes to the knight clad in gold, he threw out, “You, take her.”

Goldie sheathed its large knife and turned to Ann. Akira interposed between them, a snarl on his face. “Like hell you will.” When the gray knight kept closing with sword drawn, he paced backwards and attempted bluster. “You really think you can take me one-on-one?”

The gray knight stopped and shuddered as if caught in a seizure, joints jerking and black oozing out of the joints in its armor. Moments after the armor was covered in the flowing muck, it burst like a bloody pustule. In its place were three creatures. The first, a blindfolded woman with birdlike wings and straps covering strategic points on her body.

The second had a carved pumpkin in place of a head, a bright yellow fire burning within the head as well as the iron lantern dangling from its left hand. Dark, heavy but ragged robes flapped from the air currents of its transformation.

The third Akira would have called a snapping tortoise if it weren’t for the long, orange serpentine head extending from where the tail should be.

“Oh, darn,” Akira moaned.

All three creatures advanced on him and Akira fell back towards the wall covered in pictures. He held up a finger at the floating feminine creature. “Okay, I should inform you that if you’re trying to intimidate me, angels didn’t look like some blindfolded bondage fantasy. They’re soldiers. There’s a reason every time they showed up in the Old _and_ New Testament they had to say ‘don’t be afraid’.”

The orange serpent-head opened its toothy maw and snapped down at him.

Throwing himself out of the way, as Akira rolled to his feet he reached inside for that sense of righteous indignation. “Pillar!”

The faux-angel stopped and waved its hands in repetitive gestures, flecks of light appearing and disappearing at its fingertips.

Darkness zipped out from the base of the swirling pillar of darkness and fire, its zig-zagging course bringing it under the false angel where it roared up and disintegrated the monster in dark flecks.

Akira smirked. “I knew it. False images.”

Genbu’s tortoise head snapped at Akira, forcing him back against the wall. The lantern-wielding monster surged sideways, hurling a fireball from its lantern into Pillar.

Still running to keep his distance from the monsters, Akira stumbled with a cry of pain and Pillar shuddered back. Akira straightened on his feet, looking past them to see the gold knight locking Ann’s hands up to a set of handcuffs above her head on the bedpost.

Ann pulled against it. “I’m not a whore!” She kicked the knight in its codpiece.

“Now, now,” King Kamoshida reprimanded, just watching as the knight locked her right leg in a low shackle even as she kicked it with her other. A leer spread over the coach’s face. “What shall I do with you?”

Eyes wide with confusion but blazing with anger, she snapped at him, “You’ve been coming on strong, but this is crazy!”

Smirk spreading into a smile, Kamoshida looked the Ann in a gym uniform up and down. He ran his tongue over his lips. “This slave’s a lively one.”

Akira dove out of the way of an icy explosion, grunting in pain. Pillar surged at the Jack, but it floated back. The Genbu’s dragon head reared up and coughed an ice bolt at Pillar, which dodged out of its path.

Ann jerked with a pained grimace against the gold knight as it locked her other leg. Anger being replaced by desperation, she yelled, “Let me go!”

Kamoshida rubbed his chin, baring his unshaven legs and speedo again. “Talking back. Now what should I do about that?” He reached his arm around the other Ann, hand sliding under her bikini and stopping at the swell of her breast.

The strange Ann clicked her tongue and gazed up at Kamoshida. “That is _totally_ the worst.”

Akira dodged a gloved swing from Jack, which changed targets to shoot another fire bolt into Pillar. The swirling column of fire and black swerved out of a snap from Genbu’s tortoise head.

Kamoshida gave a sage nod. “I think drawing and quartering is in order.” A leering smile split his face. “Start with her clothes.”

Goldie drew its gigantic knife.

Ann pulled against her bonds jerking away from it. “Get away from me, you freaks!”

Kamoshida frowned. “Now, now. That’s not the proper attitude to show a king.”

“That’s not the proper attitude for a king to show!” Akira snarled as he dove away from the Jack. It floated away, frustrated, and lifted its lantern, blazing a seconds-long gout of flame into Pillar. Akira growled in pain and ground his teeth.

Pillar pulsed, emitting a bolt of fire against the Genbu. The tortoise-like monster flinched but held the column in its sights.

Goldie grabbed Ann’s shirt and sliced down through it.

Akira changed direction to head towards her. “Stay away from Takamaki, you son of a bitch!”

Ann jerked one way, then another against the bonds, panting with exertion but failing to budge them.

Kamoshida turned from Ann to Akira, lip curled in a sneer. “I’ve had just about enough out of you, vermin. Isn’t it about time you tire out and die?”

An icy explosion burst, catching Pillar in the detonation. Pillar shuddered, giving Jack an opening to fling an exploding fireball into it. Akira clenched his teeth, collapsing to one knee.

Jack swooped down, wrapping its huge gloved hand around his throat and picking Akira up off the floor.

“No!” The real Ann shouted, still jerking against her bonds, her slashed shirt flapping. “Kamoshida, stop it!”

Akira kicked Jack in the dark fabric covering what should be its chest. The material deformed with the blow and the fire in its carved head flickered, but it held steady. Still able to breathe, he brought his hands together and slammed the combined fist against the glove, only getting a mild twitch.

Genbu’s tortoise head snapped at Pillar, which dodged, but the dragon head sucked in air and glowed with blue. Jack shot a fire bolt into Pillar as the dragon head blasted a long ray of ice into the churning column.

Akira screamed in pain.

“Stop it!” Ann pulled at her bonds, her eyes on Akira as he kicked from half a meter up in the air in the Jack’s grip. “Kamoshida, I’ll…” She stopped, her head falling. She drew in a long breath, seeing her own chest rise, then looked up to the demented coach. “Let him go, and I’ll…” Her eyes fell away.

Kamoshida held up a hand, his smirk back in full force. Genbu retreated a step and Jack lowered its lantern. “Now that’s the sort of look you should’ve had to start with.”

Breathing ragged, Akira kept slamming down on Jack’s glove. Pillar shrank in on itself, retracting into the ceiling.

Leering, Kamoshida reached for Ann’s open shirt, fondling her breast over the dark purple bra.

“No,” Akira shouted, still pounding against Jack’s glove. “Takamaki, even if all you can do is deny the enemy victory, never give in!”

“This _is_ Takamaki we’re talking about,” a girl’s voice floated from no-where.

Kamoshida’s voice floated out of some indeterminate direction, thick with empathy but tinged with expectation. “It must be lonely with your friend spending so much time in practice. Give me your phone number. I’m sure I can find a way to help you out.”

Ann jerked against her bonds, clenching her eyes shut. “No.”

“Sure, she’s got the body. But what’s she willing to give to be a model?”

“Is she really doing Kamoshida? She seems easy, you think I’d have a chance?”

Ann snapped straight, glaring at Kamoshida. “I’m nobody’s toy.” She flinched in a new pain as flames crept up her face, in moments ragged screaming tore from her throat. When the flames ceased, a solid red mask rested over her face.

Kamoshida jerked back and retreated another few steps for good measure. “What is this?”

“I’m not some cheap whore, scumbag!” Ann declared.

“Bitch,” Kamoshida shot back.

Ann tore her bonds from their mountings against the bedpost. Tilting to keep balance, she kicked Goldie, dropping its knife and sending the ostentatious knight tumbling over the floor. Picking up the knife, Ann plunged the gaudy blade into the false Ann, which dissolved in a puff of dark dust. That satisfied, she reached up and tore off the mask with a shriek of agony.

Akira smirked. “You’ve just been out-maneuvered. Pillar of Heaven!” He kicked Jack across the face to make it flinch, twisted, and slammed both feet against the lantern, causing the monster to drop it.

The column of fire and darkness shot out of the ceiling, blasting fire into Genbu, which slumped and dissolved into black and red goo.

“Carmen!” Ann shouted.

A torrent of blue flames exploded out from her, knocking Goldie and Kamoshida away. Breath ragged, she looked over to see Akira still gripped by the Jack diving for its lantern. Casting out a hand, she snarled.

A huge, glowing figure in a frilly dress lashed out a long, thorny whip that cut through Jack’s head, blasting it into dissolving black and red goo.

“Oh, shit!” Kamoshida said before scrambling out the door.

“That,” Goldie said, rising to its feet, “is quite enough of that.”

Shuddering like the throes of a massive seizure, black ooze leaked out and it popped into a towering woman holding Shinto dancing fans, clad in scanty white wrappings too revealing to call a proper kimono.

Akira stumbled closer, sweating and bruises developing on his face. “Pillar of Heaven!”

The column churned between he and the towering woman, shooting it with a bolt of flame.

The bolt splashed against her and vanished without hint of a singe. The woman focused on Ann. “You think you can deny Lord Kamoshida’s love?”

Ann snarled. “Don’t feed me that line when he doesn’t even know what love is. We’re not sexual outlets.”

Carmen lashed out with its whip, wrapping around the towering woman’s neck and sending a howling blizzard’s gale that froze the enemy monster. The frozen figure fell to the floor in front of the door before it suddenly picked up and hurled into the canopy bed, shattering into dissolving black and red goo.

Something between a child and a cat strode into the room, flicking an arm in dismissal. A burly, glowing figure vanished from over its head. “I guess I arrived just in time. You look like you’re on your last legs.”


	5. April 13th, Part 2, Escape from the Tower

Persona 5: Daywatch

Wednesday, 13 April 2016  
Afternoon  
Location: Unknown

Breathing heavy, Ann slid to her knees in the gold-gilded bedchambers of the twisted king. Her eyes locked onto the short, bipedal creature approaching them from the door, she managed, “Wha… what are you?”

The half-meter black and white creature looked over Ann, its eyes widening. “What a meowvelous woman! Fierce and beautiful.”

Ann braced a hand on her knee, only then looking down and noticing her form-fitting red leather bodysuit. Wrapping her arms around herself for all the good it would do, shouted, “What the… when did _this_ happen to my gym uniform?”

The cat-kid held a hand up at her. “That is the shape of your will of rebellion against the injustice of the world.”

Still favoring his left leg, Akira came to a stop just a pace from her. “But… red leather?” When Ann shot to her feet, shoulders back and posed to throw herself into a fight, he raised his hands in surrender. “Not that it doesn’t look good on you.”

“Everybody constructs their lives with the building blocks made available by the world around them,” the catboy said. He gestured at Akira. “Much as you.”

A clatter of plate mail from the door heralded the appearance of a group of gray knights. “There they are!”

“Quick,” catboy snapped, “Follow me!” Drawing a fist-sized canister from his belt, he threw it and smoke billowed.

The sounds of metal charging in rang, but the smoke obscured everything. A voice echoed out of a metal helm, “Where are they?”

Struggling to squint through the dense fog, Akira spotted the diminutive form of catboy and followed him out the door. Pausing, he turned to see Ann at his back. Satisfied both of them were safe enough, he followed catboy to a vent, then through that to a narrow, smudged servant passage.

Once they all stood in relative safety, Akira put his hands on his hips. “So who are you?”

Pausing to glance around warily, catboy looked up at him as if hoping not to say. “I’m Morgana.”

Akira brought his hand to his chest and inclined his head. “Akira.”

“Ann,” she introduced in likewise fashion. Staring out at the narrow corridor, she asked, “What is this castle? What happened to the school?”

Morgana’s ears fell slack against his broad skull. “The school _is_ the castle. This is the distorted reflection of your school in the heart of the palace ruler.”

Akira straightened his longcoat. “Well, you _did_ say Shujin was his own private castle.”

Ann’s eyes widened. “I didn’t mean it _literally_!”

Akira focused on Morgana. “But… What about the girls? Especially Suzui? There’s no way a nice girl like that would be caught _dead_ with Kamoshida, much less half-naked in some… pleasure house,” he spit, “and gushing over how wonderful it would be to wait on that shit-head. I know it’s dangerous, but we’ve got to go back and bust ‘em out.”

Morgana tilted his head. “Girls?”

Akira frowned. “He must’ve had the whole female volleyball team there in that gold-caged sex dungeon.”

Ann rolled her eyes. “I think you mixed a few metaphors there.”

“Up yours!” he snarled back.

Hopping up and waving his arms to get their attention, Morgana said, “Whoa! We can’t go back up there. There’s nobody to rescue.”

“The hell there isn’t!” Akira reached for Morgana, who danced out of his grip. “I saw… it must’ve been twenty girls.” A flush of heat spread over his cheeks.

“And that…” Ann shivered. “…look alike.” Her mouth twisted into a grimace. “I’d _never_ wear something like that for Kamoshida.”

Akira stared off. “She sure filled it out.”

Ann glared at him.

“I…” Akira stepped back. “…just noticed…” He pressed a palm against his eye, then hissed and flinched away from the darkening bruise over his face. “I must have foot-in-mouth disease.”

Morgana’s eyes snapped wide. “Oh, I think I understand what girls you’re talking about. Like that cognitive image the Palace ruler had of Lady Ann?”

Now Akira’s eyes grew wide. “Cog… are you telling me they were all cognitive constructs formed from an amalgamation of his conscious and subconscious desires?”

Morgana crossed his arms, his gaze narrowing to slits. When he spoke, his tone was nothing short of accusatory, “You catch on… _very_ fast.”

Akira scratched his neck, eyes on his feet. “I… didn’t exactly have a lot of choice in whether to learn about psychology.”

Ann crossed her arms. “How do _you_ know so much about this place, cat?”

Ruffled, Morgana bared his teeth. “I am _not_ a cat! I am Morgana.” He held up his hands, ears curling down as he flexed his fingers. “The Metaverse has been distorted by something lately. That’s what changed me into… _this_.”

Straightening to try to inject some calm neutrality, Akira looked Morgana in the eye. “When did that happen?”

Morgana looked away, his ears pressing against his skull. “I… don’t know. Maybe it’s because I’ve been here so long, but…” He held his arms down and looked Akira in the eye. “I can’t remember anything from very far back. A matter of months, maybe a year. The distortions that turned me into this also robbed me of most of my memories.”

Akira shoved his hands into his pockets. “Man, I wish I could get that.”

Both Ann and Morgana turned scathing looks on him.

Akira shrugged. “I don’t exactly have a diary full of warm memories.”

Sighing, Morgana waved it aside. “If I could just find the Treasure, I could topple this palace and right at least a little of the distortion.”

“Huh?” Ann blinked, her crossed arms loosening.

“Palaces form when a ruler has a focus of warped desires.” Glancing up, he noticed both costumed teenagers giving him blank looks. “Think of a Treasure like an anchor. It’s a core of their desires. If it gives rise to a Palace, it could even stop them from being able to go anywhere in life, forcing everything to circle around that one primary obstacle in their mind.

Akira blinked, seeing double Morganas and Anns. “Could you four do me a favor? Stop wobbling.”

Ann raised an eyebrow. “Wobbling? We’re both standing still.”

Hot red flames washed over Akira, returning him to his gym uniform, and he fell to his knees.

Morgana maintained a calm, analytic stare. “Huh. I knew he was burning up a lot of energy, but I didn’t know his power was still so unstable.”

Kneeling next to Akira, close enough to see perspiration beading across his skin, Ann glanced back at their short benefactor. “What’s going on?”

Looking her in the eye, Morgana’s held a serious tone. “If that was your first time summoning your Persona, you won’t be far behind. We need to get both of you back to your world, quick.”

Bracing a hand against the wall to come back to his feet, Akira couldn’t find enough strength or coordination to push Ann away. “No argument there.”

Ann looked to Morgana. “Is it because he summoned his Persona three times?”

“Once you’ve awakened, it should just depend on how hard you’re pushing your Persona.” Morgana glanced between them, then his eyes snapped wide open. “Wait, are you saying he just awakened too?”

“Why?”

“That’s _very_ dangerous. I’m surprised you can still _walk_ so soon after calling out your Persona for the first time. If he forced his out _three_ times today,” Morgana opened his mouth, then closed it, then waved his hands in the air. “I don’t even know what could happen. Worse, he’s vulnerable to the palace distortions now.”

Head pounding, Akira grunted. “What’s that mean?”

“That…” Morgana swirled a hand in a circular motion, “outfit you wore. Think of it like armor that protects you from the effects of the palace ruler’s distortion. It’s a reaction of your will against his.”

Akira tilted his head, hammers still pounding the inside of his skull. “So… those threads were how Kamoshida thought of me?”

Morgana shook his head. “No, your appearance is determined by your self-image, as well as your perceptions of how others view you. Now hurry, follow me before you forget you came from the outside.”

Struggling against the headache and rubbery sensation in his knees, Akira followed Morgana to the castle entrance, relying on Ann to steer him in the absence of his glasses. They came to a place much brighter than the halls of the castle, and Ann stopped, staring out. “No way, it’s Tokyo!”

Morgana came to a stop in front of them. “Now you just have to use the same artifact you used to get here and you’ll return to your world.”

Ann threw her fists down to her sides. “We don’t know _how_ we got—”

“Wait,” Akira said, a tinge of elation joining the throbbing headache. “My phone said something before we wound up here.” Digging around, he pulled out his smart phone and stared, baffled, at the bleeding eye icon taking up the screen. “The hell?”

Morgana stood like a sentinel by the vent they used to escape the castle. “Just don’t forget that I helped you when you needed it.”

Ann gave him a serious nod. “Okay.” Refocusing on Akira, holding a hand against his head, she said, “Let’s go home.”

His thumb tapped the screen and the same mechanical voice from earlier read, “Returning to the real world. Thank you for your hard work.”

Red and darkness tore across their vision, but after a blink the bustle of Tokyo stood all around them. At least outside the narrow alley across from the gates of Shujin High. Both struggled to breathe for a moment, shocked at the journey they concluded. Caught up in the euphoria of victory and return, they embraced.

Akira glanced down to see her purple bra peeking out.

Ann glanced down to see her split shirt. Jerking apart, her hand lashed out and slapped across his face.

Akira stumbled back into the air conditioning units, hands going to the one side of his face. His split lip started bleeding again as he let out a moan of pain.

“Sorry!” Ann grabbed her gym jacket and zipped it up. “Look, about that castle fiasco… the things that cat said…”

Akira searched around through every pocket for his glasses until finding the half a frame without a cracked lens. Holding it up over his eye, he turned to Ann. “Morgana. Yeah. We need to check it out again. I know he _said_ they weren’t real, but… if there’s even a _chance_ Shiho’s in danger, I can’t just sit it out.”

Leaning her forearm against the brick wall for support, Ann scanned his face for a few moments, her eyes coming to rest on the purpling bruise on the left side. She took in a deep breath, but something about her pose seemed more relaxed than the transfer student had ever seen her. “You really care about her a lot, don’t you?”

The wistful hint in her voice sent a feeling of fire through his face and he coughed against a tightness in his throat, unable to meet her azure gaze. “N-no! It’s just that… Anybody who would have stuff as sick as that in his head is somebody too dangerous to leave unchecked.”

Letting out a heavy breath, Ann leaned fully against the brick wall opposite Akira. She brought a hand up to clutch her head, wincing. “I’m feeling dead on my feet.”

“I feel like I’m ready to collapse as soon as I sit down.” His head pounded like oni took turns slamming each side with warhammers. Looking back to Shujin, he said, “I’ll see what I can find tomorrow. Want me to message you if I find anything?”

Ann hesitated, then looked to the bruise darkening on his face. “If I can’t trust you after that, who can I trust?” Taking her phone out, they exchanged contact information. Glancing up at the sky, deep crimson giving way to purple, she gaped. “It’s _that_ late? I am _so_ dead!”

She dashed back inside the school and Akira followed at a more measured pace.

Wednesday, 13 April 2016  
After School  
Shujin Hallways

Shiho shifted her grip on the stack of books in her arms, tired even before having started them. A familiar stride approached and she turned in the empty hall to see Mishima, favoring his left foot just a little.

Some recent swelling kept him from fully opening his left eye, but he looked up at her with the same tender worry as he did back when he used to meet her after volleyball games. “Shi-chan… are you leaving?” He reached for her shoulder.

“Sorry, Yuu-chan,” she said, the act of having to send away the most supportive person in the school almost painful. “I’ve got too much studying to do.” She looked over his bruised face and cast her gaze away, shrugging his hand off before her mind could start whirling through that fearful cycle of wondering what happened that he wouldn’t talk about. She glanced up and down the empty hall, but couldn’t help but notice the way her heart sped up at his touch. “C’mon, we can’t be seen like this at school.”

Mishima took his hand away. “Go.”

Shiho blinked, turning to her pillar of gentle support. “What is it?”

Mishima flinched and turned further away, a tremble entering his hands. “Kamoshida’s asking for you. He’s in the PE Faculty office.”

She swallowed, trying to push away the rumors of what happened to people he called to his office after practice. After all, she was the starter. The star of the girls’ volleyball team. She didn’t make any mistakes. He had nothing but praise for her, even if he was a little harsh to the other players. “What did he say?”

His trembling hands clenching into fists. Mishima turned further away, his body tense as a violin string. He whispered, so quiet she hardly heard, “Go.”

“Yuu-chan…?” After several seconds of him looking away from her, doing nothing but tremble, she let out a breath. If anybody would tell her if something important was up, he would. Taking another moment to glance around the empty hall, she stepped closer and reached out but couldn’t actually cup his bruised cheek. He looked more worried than the night he met her mother. “What is it?”

Mishima swallowed and straightened, but just when he was about to look up at her he cringed and looked away. His limbs shook so much she was surprised she didn’t hear his knees knocking together.

When he refused to speak, she drew her hand back, her patience thin. “Yuu-chan, I don’t have time for this.” Shiho shifted her grips on her books again. “I have books I haven’t finished reading that I need to check back in to the library.” Glancing at him, he refused to turn to her and a spike of annoyance shot through her. Yuuki, the one friend she thought would always talk to her, stood there looking like a beaten dog. “Yuu-chan, he’s got to know I’m here today.”

Mishima opened his mouth, then closed it. “Kiriko…”

The long-haired senior sprang to her mind’s eye. Vice captain of the girl’s volleyball team last year, president of several clubs and a shoe-in for student council president in her senior year. Until she dropped off the face of the earth. “You heard what the student council VP said, she was over-extended and exhausted herself. Nothing happened.” She shuffled a half-step to one side to try to look him in the eye, but he turned his face further away. Shiho sighed. “I can’t just skip school every time you get nervous. If I keep vanishing _every_ time he wants to see me, he’ll kick me off the team.”

Mishima’s fists tightened. “He just said to the come to the office.” His hands trembled and eyes clenched shut, turning his face all the way away from her. “I can’t do it again!” Glistening light appeared at the corners of his eyes before he turned and fled.

Baffled at his refusal to speak to her, she took the books to the library, finished the chapter for her upcoming history essay, and returned them. Knowing she had no other excuses to get in the way, she took the hallway to the practice building.

Echoes of the whispered rumors passed through her ears. Two students keeping their distance from the office glanced at her, to the door, then made themselves scarce as if a monster chased them.

Shiho straightened, muttering to herself. “The tournament’s going to be starting soon. I’m the starter. He wouldn’t do anything to me. Those rumors are wrong.”

It still took all her will to lift her hand and open the door. She stepped inside, and the door closed with a low click far louder to her ears than it should have been. “Kamoshida-sensei?”

Kamoshida took his time standing out of the stunted chair in front of his desk, stepped around her, and locked the door.

The towering man looked down at her, his tongue running over his lip.

Shiho backed away, her limbs feeling cold and heart racing. “P-please…”

Her sobbed scream echoed through abandoned halls.


	6. April 14th, Part 1, Event Horizon

Persona 5: Daywatch

Wednesday, 13 April 2016  
Evening  
Yongen, Leblanc

“You’re late,” Sojiro snapped before he even looked up at Akira. Once he did, the middle-aged man’s face snapped taught and eyes wide. “What the hell happened to you?”

Walking through the feeling of being absolutely drained, Akira paced down the lane towards the stairs. The image of that gold knight cutting Ann’s shirt and her helpless thrashing still replayed through his mind. “I had to help someone out.”

Sojiro stood from the bar stool and into the transfer student’s path, crossing his arms, his tone rising. “What kind of lame excuse is that? You can’t be getting into fights!”

“Excuse,” Akira spat, then looked up at Sojiro, too tired to dredge up his comforting, familiar anger. At least the train trip gave him time to think up a cover story. “Right. Because if I called the police to say someone jumped me, they’d leap at the chance to help a reformed convict.”

Sojiro sighed, but his frame loosened. “Child services were here this afternoon. I tried to call you.” His gaze turned heated. “I am _not_ going to stick my neck out for you again.” Sojiro set his hands on his hips. “Have you been hanging around any bad influences?”

Akira’s lip twisted in a snarl. “I’m surprised _you’d_ consider someone to be a bad influence on _me_.” When Sojiro tensed, exhaustion swept over him and the boy let his shoulders slump. “Sorry, it’s just been a long day.” A smile curled on his lips, then he flinched in pain. “In truth… I think I made a friend.”

Sojiro scanned Akira. “It’d have to be some really weird person to want to spend time with you.”

Akira’s hands curled into fists and he bit his lip, then cringed in pain from the swelling. Heart crumpling at yet another person reminding him what bad company he was, he angled to rush around Sojiro.

The older man sighed and stepped in the way to prevent a quick retreat. “I’m just saying if you’re not careful who you let close to you, you’re going to get hurt.” He reached to set the newspaper on the bar counter. “Think of how _I_ feel, having to stay up and worry about you. Then you walk in with a bruise the size of Hokkaido, a split lip, and a thousand-meter-stare.”

“You weren’t worried about _me_. You made that plenty clear.” Akira slipped around, trotted upstairs. Despite the feeling of shards where his heart should be from Sojiro’s cruel assumptions, he forced himself to his bed and got halfway through changing for bed when his phone buzzed.

Ann’s ID stared up at him, so he opened the instant messenger and read. <I just wanted to say thanks before I passed out.>

Akira’s fingers moved almost before his brain caught up. <It’s no big deal.>

<Yes, it is. I wasn't very nice to you before and you still saved me. Also, sorry about slapping you near the end.>

Akira typed in, <It was a nice view,> then considered the day as context and deleted it. Instead, he sent, <You were still freaked about everything. As long as you're okay, it's all good.>

<I don't understand you.> She sent back. A few moments passed before she added, <I mean, thanks.>

Thursday, 14 April 2016  
Early Morning  
Yongen, Leblanc

Akira pulled the door closed behind him and took a good look at the cafe’s washroom. Almost wide enough for him to stretch out his arms in either direction, it felt much more roomy than any other one he’d been in. The sink bolted to the wall lacked any counter, so he had to leave his bag on the ground, but at least it had a mirror big enough to view his entire face in.

The half of his face the knight’s gauntlet struck yesterday still smarted. The swelling was on its way down, but a huge bruise extending from his cheek to his temple stood out like a blighted field. Reaching down to his bag, he pulled out the makeup kit and opened the pale, skin-tone container. “Good thing I’ve had to do this before.”

Swabbing a cotton ball over the top, he touched it to the bruise and hissed in pain, jerking his hand away. Taking in a deep breath, he swept it over the bruise and painted over the injury.

Thursday, 14 April 2016  
Afternoon  
Shujin, Class 2-D

Ushimaru drew a stick-figure representation of a judge and turned back to the class, still droning about the separation of powers in the Japanese government. Akira ignored him, speed-reading through the book until one of the students on the right wall of the class jerked to his feet and peered out through the window. “Hey, who’s that?”

Ushimaru cleared his throat. When the class didn’t all turn their focus back to him, he gripped his chalk and snapped, “Class is still in session. Sit back down _right_ now.”

“She’s outside the fence!” somebody from beyond the classroom shouted.

Now half a dozen students next to the window abandoned the pretense of paying attention and rushed to see what was going on through the courtyard. The first student to stand said, “We’ve got a jumper!”

Mishima shot out of his seat, knocking his chair into the aisle. “Shiho!” He bolted out of the class.

Ann turned pale as death and stood. “Shiho?” She followed the class representative out at a slower run.

With two people repeating the name of the only kind student in school, Akira felt a chill trickle down his back. “Suzui-san?” He chased Ann out to the window, just in time to see the black-haired girl tip over the edge and plummet into the courtyard.

Ann clapped her hands over her mouth, eyes wide with horror.

Akira felt the blood drain from his face, a sensation of ice pounding him. He hardly felt Ann slam through him, even though the motion knocked him spinning around. Once he finished almost falling into the window to the courtyard, his eyes picked the blonde out of the crowd building in the hall and he took off at a panicked dash, praying he didn’t see what he knew he saw.

He slammed into Ryuji, pausing only enough for eye contact before resuming the sprint outside.

A crowd gathered, numerous vultures in student guise holding up their phones to record videos as the jewel of Shujin Academy bled in front of them. One of the third-year teachers called for the students to return to class, but the buzz of horrified conversation and gossip only grew.

Snarling as he shoved aside one student recording the debacle, Akira finally came close enough to see the poor girl herself. “Suzui!” He bulled through other students until coming to Ann, kneeling on the ground and crying as medics locked a brace around the black-haired girl’s neck. Akira kneeled behind Ann. “Is she gonna be all right?”

Ann crawled closer. “Shiho, what happened?”

“Can’t…” Shiho whimpered in pain. “Sorry.”

Ann pushed closer and a paramedic shoved her aside to shift Shiho onto a stretcher.

“Ka… Kamo…” Shiho’s eyes slid closed and her body went slack on the mat.

Feeling wetness at his eyes, Akira prayed like he never had before.

The medic pushed the stretcher in and jumped in after. Another came out from the direction of the passenger door. “We need someone to go with her. Who is her teacher?”

The third-year teacher muttered some lame excuse, and Ann jumped to the fore, her makeup streaked with tears. “I’ll go!”

The medic pursed his lips, then glanced to the ambulance. “Fine. Hurry.”

Akira struggled to breathe. Air came in thin wisps, and it felt like the whole world pressed on every square inch of him in its best attempts to crush him into paste. Numb and feeling his knees giving out on him, Akira stumbled in a turn and grabbed Ryuji’s shoulder to stay on his feet before he consciously realized the runner was there.

During the turn, he spotted Mishima slipping into the Practice Building.

Akira’s wheezing vanished, his gaze hardened, and he strode through the crowd like a Terminator as Ryuji followed, trying to talk to him. Akira cornered Mishima by lockers in the practice building, crying his eyes out. Feeling detached from his voice, from the school, from his own thoughts and body, Akira asked with unnerving calm, “What happened?”

“I…” Mishima wiped at the snot dribbling down his nose, but the tears came too fast to hide. He looked away. “…don’t know.”

Surging out with strength he didn’t know he had, Akira threw Mishima against a locker. “The hell you don’t!”

“Whoa, man!” Ryuji grabbed Akira and pulled him back before looking at Mishima. “Talk to us, dude. We won’t blab, but we gotta know what’s goin’ on.”

“Shiho…” Mishima took his head in his hands and leaned against the locker, sobbing. “Kamoshida… called her out.”

Akira’s eyebrows arched. “What the hell’s that mean? I thought he only got rough with guys getting close to girls on the team.”

Ryuji snorted. “Like he’d have that much restraint.”

Mishima shook his head, hands lowering. “Not just guys. He calls out anybody on the volleyball teams. Anybody who’s done anything wrong, and…” He looked away, tears still streaming down his face. “Oh, god, Shiho…”

Akira flexed his free hand, grinding his teeth, but reached out to Mishima’s shirt, pressing the class leader against the locker. “What _exactly_ happens?”

Mishima struggled for a few moments before his breathing evened. “He’d nominate someone when he was in a bad mood, for the smallest mistakes… and hit m-us.” He clenched his eyes and flinched. “Again. And again.” He reached up to cradle a bandage on his cheek. “But Shi-chan never made any mistakes or anything.”

“That…” Akira stopped, thinking back to how the coach looked at Ann days ago, how the king Kamoshida touched Ann in the castle of horrors. The topless Shiho in that pleasure room. Akira stepped away from Mishima, fingers curling into tight fists.

The memory of Ann’s words echoed in his mind, “_Then something happened. Overnight, Kiriko-senpai became a recluse_…”

Akira’s teeth ground. “So that _wasn’t_ just his desire, he _acted_ on it.” He turned around and stalked towards the PE faculty office. Mishima and Ryuji followed close. Akira heard them call at first, but soon everything was drowned out by the roar of blood in his ears. “Ka-” The door came in sight, “-Mo-” he reached out for the lever handle, “-Shi-” he slammed the door open, “-Da!”

Kamoshida looked over his shoulder from his desk, nonplussed.

Akira roared, “You rapist pig!” Ryuji clamped on one arm before Akira could start swinging.

Kamoshida threw his pen on the desk, turned around, and stood with a deep frown. “You’re expelled.”

Akira clenched his fists, and Mishima took his other arm.

Kamoshida stared down through narrowed eyes. “Don’t think you could throw such serious accusations without repercussions.” A bitter sneer twisted his face. “What did you even come here for? Even if I did what you claim, there’s nothing you could do.” Straightening, with a little more of his nonchalance back, he threw a meaningful glance at Mishima. “Even… _certain_ people couldn’t do anything to stop it.”

Mishima froze.

Kamoshida straightened, looking as calm as a man in control of everything in the world. “The hospital just called. Suzui slipped into a coma.”

Mishima broke into a sob, his grip on Akira changing from one of holding the hot-head back to clamping on him for strength he couldn’t find in himself.

Kamoshida took a shallow step closer, his eyes on Mishima but his body angled at Akira. “I hear there’s no chance of recovery.”

“No,” Mishima’s voice cracked, fresh tears falling.

Akira’s arms vibrated with the urge to lash out despite the two students holding him back.

Kamoshida smirked, locking eyes with the transfer student. “Am I going to have another case of _self-defense_?”

Akira jerked at the coach, held back by Ryuji. “Pig!”

Ryuji pulled back harder. “Don’t let him do it to you, man! This is just what he did to me. No matter what happens here, he’ll win if you let go now!”

“_You_?” Kamoshida chuckled and crossed his arms. “_You’re_ stopping the criminal?” He threw back his head and let out deep, belly-full laughter. “That’s rich.” He leaned just into Akira’s reach. “What’s stopping you? Don’t hold back.”

Akira curled his fists, nails biting into his palms, but he felt Mishima clamped on his arm, crying into his sleeve and stopped straining.

Kamoshida closed his fists and stood back. “You’re _all_ expelled.”

“What?” Mishima and Ryuji both shouted, aghast.

Kamoshida’s lip twitched, the only sign of a smothered snarl as he turned to Mishima. “Didn’t you ever wonder why I let someone as talentless as you stay on the team?” He leaned closer. “Even though you were distracting the _real_ talent?”

A tremor passed through Mishima before he dashed out.

Akira ran after him, Ryuji hot on his heels. “Mishima!”

Ryuji grabbed Akira’s school coat and brought them to a halt. “Dude, let him have some space for a while.”

Akira pulled once against Ryuji’s grip, but the track star held on until Mishima disappeared around the corner. With both targets out of sight, Akira had nowhere to bury his fists and he ground his teeth.

Shouting muffled by the heavy doors came from the courtyard, but the transfer student gave it no mind until one burst open and a first-year teacher strode in, her drab gray suit-style vest disheveled. She took one look at the pair of second-years and shouted, “Back to your classes! The principal hasn’t released school, so get back to your rooms!” Getting nothing but a glare that could’ve set forests on fire from the transfer student, she looked to the blond-haired student. “Have any other students come this way?”

“Nah,” Ryuji said, furrowing his brow at her before he grabbed Akira’s arm. “C’mon, Kurusu-sa-”

“Don’t call me Kurusu!” Akira snapped, his vision clearing a little as he rounded on the runner.

Taking the shout in stride, Ryuji gestured his chin at the door the teacher just walked through. “The courtyard’s gonna be packed, let’s take the walkway.”

Akira growled, but let himself be led back to Class 2-D. The only thing that filled his mind was the image of his hands choking the life out of Kamoshida.


	7. April 14th, Part 2, Another's Vengeance

Persona 5: Daywatch

Thursday, 14 April 2016  
After School  
Front Gates of Shujin

Akira stormed through Shujin’s front doors, every student noticing him clearing a wide path. The image of Shiho’s body, limbs twisted and glassy eyes staring up with a lingering ‘please make it end’ still in every line and wrinkle. A look that echoed from too many dark nights in his own life. A look that didn’t belong on such a beautiful face. Bumping into somebody in a Shujin uniform, he pushed him aside and stalked past the yawning gates, trying to figure out how to murder Kamoshida for laying a hand on the sweetest girl in Shujin.

A black cat hopped up onto the cleanest air conditioning unit next to him and scrutinized him with what the transfer student could swear was worry. Then it opened its mouth, but instead of a meow he heard the voice of the creature who guided them out of the Metaverse yesterday, “_Something_ wound you up.”

Akira’s fingers twitched. “Morgana?”

The cat blinked, one ear twisting as an impressed surprise slipped over his face. “That was easier than I thought it’d be. How did you recognize me?”

“I never forget a voice.” He clenched his fists, deciding to shelve how Morgana got here or why he looked like a street cat with white paws. It wasn’t much different than his bipedal cartoony-catboy form in the castle. “You were right about that perverted bastard. He needs to go down. So how do we do this, cat?”

Morgana’s tail twitched back and forth, ears folded against the back of his head. “I’m _not_ a cat!” He glanced to the transfer student’s fists. “And we’re not beating him up, we’re simply stealing his distorted desires.” He looked back out at the road. “Where’s Lady Ann?”

Akira ground his teeth, impatience beating on his body’s need to _act_. “She went to the hospital with Suzui earlier. She’ll meet us here in a few minutes where nobody will see us… go.”

Morgana’s eyebrows arched, concern clear despite the furry feline face. “I understand you want to do something, but if you’re sloppy about it, you could cause a mental shutdown.”

Akira lunged at the cat already less than a meter away. “Damn the shutdown, this man is as evil as my old bastard.” He lowered his fists to his side and forced a breath in, then out. “I _waited_ when I had the opportunity before. I _knew_ what was in his head.”

Shaking his head, Morgana sighed. “You were in no condition to press farther. It’s only been a day since you and Lady Ann awakened. I’m not even sure you’re fully recovered ye—”

“Look what happened to Suzui-san!” Akira shouted. One girl turning onto the road paused, giving him a funny look for yelling at a cat, but she speed-walked away when he shot her a glare. Swallowing and struggling to keep his volume to a harsh whisper, he held up his hands, trying not to see them tremble. “Her blood is on _my_ hands. She isn’t even the first one. How many came before? You think it was just Kiriko? Who’s it gonna be next time? Takanashi? Takamaki?”

Morgana turned his head away.

“You think I can afford to wait? You think _they_ can afford to _wait_?” Akira shoved his hands into his school jacket, feeling his tone rising. “This is playing Russian roulette with a fully loaded gun!”

Ann jogged in from the street, breathing hard. Her chest heaved, but something cold yet energetic like a winter blizzard swirled in her eyes. “I just… got back from… the hospital. You messaged… that you’ve got a way to deal with Kamoshida?”

Akira snarled at the mention of the name. “We crush the king.”

Standing, Morgana shot him as firm a gaze as a little cat could a teenage human. “This isn’t a decision to make lightly. If you’re going to do this, I need all of you—”

“I’m in,” Ann interrupted.

Morgana’s ears curled and he tilted his head as he looked up at her, a waver in his eyes. “I just don’t want you to do something you’ll torment yourself over afterwards.”

Akira crossed his arms. “You really going to get in the way of a girl with the fires of vengeance burning in her belly?”

Morgana fixed a clear glare at Akira. “You can’t run into this thing half-cocked.”

“Then stay out of our way,” Akira shot back.

Morgana stood up, tail twitching. “Don’t think you can do this without me. You need me as much as I need you. Are you both sure about this? Sure you can keep a grip on your emotions, too?”

Akira nodded, but when Ann gave her own assent they both looked as determined as ever.

Morgana let out a sigh, then took a deep breath. “The moment we cross over, we’ll treat each other like phantom thieves, so I hope you’re ready.”

Ann set a hand on her hip. “Excuse me? Phantom thieves?”

Puffing out his chest, Morgana sat. “Masters of the covert who sneak into the most secret of places and stylishly steal treasure.”

Akira spat at the ground. “I don’t care about treasure. I’m going in to stop Kamoshida from doing to anyone else what he did to Suzui-san.”

Ann stood straighter, squaring her own shoulders. “If you’re that certain, there’s no way I can back out either. Shiho was _my_ best friend since middle school.” She glanced at the downcast Morgana. “Well, _I_ think it sounds cool. So how do we get back into the castleverse?”

Akira drew his phone and turned it to her, the bleeding eyeball app in the center of the screen. “Same way as yesterday. Except this time, we mean to do it.”

“Who made that?”

Akira turned his phone back and lifted his free finger. “Some douchebag with a long nose. What’s it matter as long as it works?”

Ann shifted her hips. “You’re weird, but I guess you have a point.”

Akira tapped his smart phone and the world bled red for a moment before the castle sprang up where Shujin once stood.

“What the shit?” Ryuji shouted from just around the corner to the alley.

Morgana the catboy flopped on the air conditioner. “Aaand, there goes our stealth.”

Akira trotted out of the alley, Ann and Morgana at his heels.

Gawking up at the castle, Ryuji’s hands closed into fists and eyes widened. “What the eff happened to the school?” He whipped around, looking down both directions of the street. “Where’d everyone else go?”

Akira reached out. “Same place you’re going to.”

“Don’t you even…” Parrying, Ryuji brought up his fists. “Who the hell are…?” He leaned closer, his eyes squinting for a long beat. “Akira?”

“Guilty as charged,” he said, droll. “Now get going.”

“What happened to your clothing?” Ryuji turned to Ann, mouth drifting further open and a blush spreading over his face. “Takamaki…? Da-yum, who put you in that getup?”

Ann swiped a hand at him despite several meters between them. “It’s our residual mental image.”

Morgana trotted closer. “Right. It’s a defense against the palace’s distortion.”

Just starting to settle down, Ryuji took a step back and his eyes widened again. “Is that a… cat?”

“I am _not_ a cat!” Morgana roared. “This is just… from the distortion of the Metaverse. I’m trying to restore my true form.”

“Which is a cat?” Ryuji blurted.

Akira stepped between them. “No, it’s human. How would a cat learn to talk? Now stop getting in our way, we’ve got a rapist to take down.”

Ryuji straightened, looking Akira in the mask. “You really goin’ up against Kamoshida?”

Ann stepped out of the alley, crossing her arms. “This doesn’t concern you, Sakamoto.”

“Suzui-san was in _my_ class, too,” Ryuji shot back, ears and face reddening. “She may not have been my BFF, but she was the class rep for a reason. There’s not a single one of us who didn’t like her. If Kamoshida’s responsible for her tryin’ ta kill herself, I can’t just walk away. He’s stolen from _both_ of us. Or have you forgotten the shit he put the track team through? What he put _me_ through?”

Looking down, Ann took a half step back. “Listen, Sakamoto, it’s not that I don’t understand, but this is… way beyond—”

Akira slipped his hands into his pockets. “You willin’ to put everything on the line?”

Ryuji pumped a fist in the air. “Hell yeah!”

Akira stared into Ryuji’s eyes. “You willin’ to go up against _this_ Kamoshida, even if it means a fight to the death, if it means keeping what happened to Suzui-san from ever happening again?”

Ryuji’s hand came down and he backed up a step, unable to meet Akira’s eyes. “I… I dunno about _killin_’ the guy. I mean, he’s a class A hole, but…”

“Then _leave_,” Akira snapped. “Either you go all the way with us, or you walk out now. I won’t blame you for choosing to duck out. It’s your life and I don’t know how far we’ll have to go. I’m the only one with nothing to lose.”

Ryuji took a step closer, narrow eyes fixed on Akira’s. “He expelled _me_, too.”

Ann blinked. “Expelled?” She put her hands on her hips and directed a harsh look at Akira. “Too? What happened?”

With a bitter smirk, Ryuji jerked a thumb at Akira. “Dude took a page from my book and stalked down Kamoshida in his office. Would’ve put the beat down on him if me an’ that other guy weren’t there. That asshole expelled all of us just for bein’ there.”

Ann’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know how good you think you are, but Kamoshida would’ve _destroyed_ you.” A sigh leaked out and her shoulders slumped. “I don’t know, if he’s already announced your expulsion, maybe he basically did.”

Akira turned to the castle. “In the end, it doesn’t matter. I’m here to see this through.” He looked down to Morgana. “I think we saw everything there was in that sex dungeon—”

“In _what_?” Ryuji blurted, eyes shooting wide.

“—but one of the guards mentioned the Training Hall of Love,” Akira continued without a beat of hesitation. “You see anything like that while you were scopin’ the place out? Kamoshida was a gold medal winner, if his treasure wasn’t in that slave tower it’s got to be there.”

Morgana put a hand on his chin. “Mmm, I _was_ scouting the dungeons, but I bailed when I heard about a princess kidnapping in the tower. It might be down there.” He straightened and pointed his hand at Ryuji. “I still think he should sit this one out.”

Ryuji lifted a fist at the small catperson. “Dude you couldn’t throw me out if you _wanted_ to.”

Morgana sent him a hooded glare. “Those two have already faced the oppression of the world bearing down on them and the dark weakness in their own hearts. _They’ve_ already awakened their Personas. You’re just a loud, impulsive thug.”

Akira chuckled. “Damn, he’s got you pegged.”

“Fuck you, man.” Ryuji jammed his hands in his pockets. “Like I ain’t faced down plenty’a shit myself.”

“You’re right,” Akira said, looking back at him with a calm tone. “That was uncalled for.”

Ryuji let out a breath that seemed to take most of his energy with it. “What?”

“I’m being strategic and tactical in one move,” Akira explained before Ann or Morgana could pipe in. “Between the three of us we _might_ be able to force you back into the real world, but it’d take more effort than it’s worth. If you _do_ have a beef with Kamoshida, far be it from me to stand in the way of letting you pay him back.”

Ann held a wary stance, hip jutting out. “What is it with you and revenge?”

“It’s the only thing that keeps me warm at night.”

Ryuji swallowed. “You worry me. But thanks.”

Morgana scanned the three humans. “If we’re all ready?” When the others nodded, he shook out his tension. “Okay, I’m counting on you, Joker.”

“Joker,” Akira said, a smirk growing on his face as he tested the sound. “I’ve always wanted to wow the crowds.”

Ann crossed her arms. “You hate crowds.”

“Shut. Up.”

Ryuji rolled his eyes. “Why the stupid nickname?”

“It’s an alias,” Akira said, terse. “Like when me an’ the guys’d group up to go steal a cop’s hat. Without a code name, it doesn’t matter if you get away or not.” He removed his hands from his pockets and stretched out one shoulder. “As soon as they hear applause and ‘go Yoshida’ you’re dead as soon as you get home because they’ve called your parents. But if all they hear is ‘break left, Viper’ all they can do is chase you down to get it back.” A smirk spread over his lips. “And the only one smart enough to take us down one by one was this crazy kung-fu chick who could out-parkour everyone but me.”

Ryuji chuckled, rocking back on his heels. “Damn, man, you must have tons of crazy stories from where you grew up.”

Morgana held a hand to his forehead. “There’s no telling what kind of effect yelling our real names could have in the Palace. It may not be Kamoshida’s consciousness, but it’s still connected to it.”

Ryuji turned on their short compatriot. “So whadda we call you?”

“Something swift and deadly,” Akira said. “Bachi Hebi?”

Morgana bared his claws, the points glinting in the torchlight from the castle courtyard. “You’re going to compare a nimble animal with claws to a fat snake?”

“They can jump…” Akira said, a drop of sweat running down in front of his ear. “Just throwin’ stuff out there. Aomanjaku?”

Morgana sheathed his claws, withdrawing into his frame. “Do you _really_ think of me as an instigator of cheap tricks?”

Ann stepped closer, holding out a hand. “Byakko?”

Eyes widening, a look of dawning awe spread over Morgana’s face. “The guardian of the west.” He nodded. “Well, I do have a _little_ white fur. Okay, Byakko it is.”

Ryuji looked Ann over, eyes lingering for several seconds longer than necessary. “What about Takamaki?”

Inside the confines of his own mind, Akira debated potential codenames for the fellow student who stood at his side. And wore a red leather bodysuit. “Sex kitty?”

His alter ego slapped him with a paper fan.

“Hot leather?”

The paper fan lashed out again.

“Night Woman.”

His alter ego slapped him up and down with the paper fan. Coming out of his internal musing, Akira shouted, “I got nothing!”

Ann smirked, placing confident hands on her hips with no apparent idea how blistering hot the pose in that getup looked. “There’s only one name for me. Panther.”

Akira’s eyebrow rose enough for it to be visible above his eye-mask. “Seriously? What kind of—?”

Ann stomped a foot, leaning down at him in anger. “It’s Panther, all right?”

Akira looked away from her cleavage, feeling like his face burned and pants shrank. He mumbled, “Sure, okay, no problem.”

Morgana turned to Ryuji. “Well, that just leaves you.” He held a hand to his cheek, tapping a finger as he hummed. “Something descriptive, something defining. Mouth.”

“Dude,” Ryuji glared and raised a fist, “your naming privileges are _gone_.” He shook his arms and bounced on his feet as if waiting to take off at a run. “What about Captain?”

Akira and Ann both snickered. She recovered first and stood straight. “Brawler?”

Rolling his eyes, Ryuji sighed. “Man, I get enough crap for that shit with Kamoshida already.”

Akira slapped his palm to his face. “We don’t have all day. I took mine and went with it, couldn’t you do the same?”

Ryuji clenched his teeth, but after a beat sighed. “_Fine_. But if I get one of those weird costumes, I get to pick a new one.”

Akira rolled his eyes and turned to the courtyard. “Fine, whatever.”

Morgana led them up crates and scaffolding to a decorative window high on the courtyard and they slipped into the castle.


	8. April 14th, Part 3, Tempest Wakes

Persona 5: Daywatch

Thursday, 14 April 2016  
After School  
Kamoshida’s Palace, Training Hall of Love

Half a dozen students in Shujin gym uniforms pumped their arms but only held in place on the massive treadmill. A pot of cool water dripping with condensation dangled in front of them and a long roller of spikes whirled behind them. Ryuji slammed the bars and roared, “Son of a bitch!”

One runner got underneath the pot and struggled to get his arms up, failing to reach. After a moment, he just stretched out his neck and opened his mouth to catch a precious few drops before he stumbled and fell.

Two runners dodged around him and one jumped over him with a panic-fueled hop. The fallen had just enough time to crawl to all fours in front of the spiked roller before crying out, then sudden silence. The tips shone with fresh red.

Akira crossed himself. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph… is this really the kind of thing he does in real life?”

“I…” Ryuji gripped the iron bars, resting his forehead against them. “He was practically doin’ this shit with the track team when he was drivin’ us into the ground. I should’a known he wouldn’t stop.”

Akira stared, transfixed at the five left running. “When I was carryin’ Mishima to the nurse to have his concussion checked out, he let slip that Kamoshida calls in guys and beats ‘em any time they made a mistake. Called it ‘special coaching’.” His fists clenched into such tight fists the leather groaned. “Poor sap looked like Kamoshida’d been puttin’ him through ten rounds of kick boxing every day.”

Ann turned away. “I should’ve known, too. I was with Shiho almost every day, I saw girls _and_ boys on the teams with bruises and bandages. Shiho even told me about how Kiriko-senpai changed almost overnight, even if she believed the official story.” She crossed her arms. “I was just burying my head in the sand as long as nothing hurt Shiho. She and I tried to keep her boyfriend secret, but Kamoshida must’ve found out.”

Akira slammed a fist into his opposite hand. “Enough with the pity party. This just confirms what we knew. Kamoshida needs to go down.”

Clapping echoed from behind them and they heard Kamoshida quip, “Well isn’t it lovely to see all the vermin in agreement?”

All three wheeled around, fists up. Six silver knights in a neat formation two rows wide stood before them, blocking the passage. A larger gold knight stood further back and the King Kamoshida past it. Kamoshida stared down at them, his gold eyes glistening with more light than the candles should give.

“You bastard!” Ryuji took a couple steps at him, cocking back a fist, but Akira caught him.

The nearest two knights hefted their shields and lifted their swords.

Kamoshida waggled a finger at them. “Now, now, there’s no need to rush into things.” He gave an expectant smirk. “A king does so love his entertainment.” He threw his hands on his hips, elbows out, pushing open his cape.

Akira dropped to his knees, clapping his hands over his eyes as if preparing to claw them out. “My eyes! Oh, God in heaven, my eyes! I can’t un-see it!”

Ryuji’s face twisted in disgust. “I never thought a speedo could look so nasty.”

Kamoshida dropped his arms, mirth gone. “You know, perhaps I should thank you. That irritating pet of yours has been a bother for so long, it’s a joy to see it behind bars. If only I could decide how I want to execute it. There are so many ways to skin a cat.”

“Byakko!” Ann glared at Akira, next to her. “I told you we shouldn’t have sent him out scouting alone!”

Kamoshida’s eyes stopped on Ryuji and his smirk widened. “And you brought me another gift. The track traitor.”

Akira’s fists tightened and his lips peeled back to bare his teeth. “You’re raping girls and beating boys and _you_ call someone who stood up to _you_ a traitor? Fuck you and the horse you rode in on.”

Still smirking, Kamoshida rolled his eyes. “Hasn’t he told you? How many lives he ruined so he could have the satisfaction of that one punch? The rest of the track team was strong enough to bear up under the weight of my… tender training.”

Ryuji growled. “That wasn’t no training! You just couldn’t take another team doin’ as well as your precious volleyball team. We were all set to take our own trophies and you were scared.”

Lip twisting, Kamoshida spat at them, “The only one who needs to produce results is _me_. If that coach hadn’t tried to oppose me in front of the other faculty, I wouldn’t’ve had to settle things with breaking his star’s leg.”

Ann’s shoulders drooped and she looked over her shoulder at the ex-runner. “Sakamoto…”

“Now,” Kamoshida said, “go kill the vermin.” His eyes roamed over Ann’s hourglass shape and he smiled. “And do feel free to see how much you can cut from the girl. I’d _love_ to peel the leather from her.”

The front two knights burst into a quadruplet of four-legged rams standing as tall as a warhorse. Their curved horns looked dark as obsidian, but their eyes glowed with crimson.

The two persona-users summoned their own glowing monstrosities and Carmen froze one with a single powerful burst of ice. Pillar sent a zipping shock of dark into another, the inky darkness roaring up and dissolving a second, but the remaining two Bicorns charged.

The next two knights shuddered and burst into four leathery-winged, gaunt demons with huge strap-on codpieces. The knights behind them raised their swords.

The Bicorns slammed into Carmen and Pillar, drawing a cringe and pained grunt from Akira and Ann.

Pillar of Heaven flared, cracks of darkness spreading out over the ground, then roaring up into the Bicorns, disintegrating one and knocking the other to the ground, twitching. Carmen lashed it with her thorned whip and the Shadow burst into dissolving ashen darkness.

Two of the Incubi held up their hands, claws twitching as an orb of crackling darkness formed. The other two dashed at the Personas.

The knights behind them lifted their shields and paced forward.

Both Incubi slipped close enough to slash into the Personas with claws as big as Akira’s forearm. Ann cried out. Akira’s footing faltered but he stayed up and grunted in pain, nothing but anger and resolve on his face.

“No!” Ryuji ran up until Akira snagged his sleeve.

Carmen lashed her whip into the nearest Incubus, knocking it into the bars with a clang. The two Incubi hanging back charging darkness threw their inky orbs into the Personas. Akira just grit his teeth.

Ann cried out and stumbled to her knees.

Pillar of Heaven churned, expelling a shimmering ball of yellow flames at the Incubus facing it, blasting it into fading ashes.

The waiting Incubi bared their claws and flapped ahead, still grinning. The one slammed into the bars struggled to its feet, then flapped up but wavered in the air.

Ryuji tugged at Akira, wanting to rush in to help but having no idea how to take down the monsters. “Fucking stop, Kamoshida!”

The self-styled king looked to him with a droll expression. “You wait your turn.” His lips curled up. “I’ll start with your _other_ leg, just for poetic sake.”

Both vigorous Incubi clawed into Carmen and Ann fell back with a grunt of pain, clutching her sides. As Pillar shot fire at the faltering Incubus, Akira dashed to help her up.

Carmen slashed her whip across both attacking Shadows, winding one of the grinning demons.

Pillar hurled fire at the other, knocking it stumbling to the ground, but it leaped and slashed at Pillar in a frenzy.

Stumbling in place, Akira grit his teeth and tightened his hold on Ann.

Ryuji grit his teeth, hating the sensation of impotence. “Kamoshida, you asshole! Is destroying people the only thing you’re good at?”

Kamoshida smirked.

One gray knight burst, leaving a pair of green demons hiding in large, gold pots. The other also burst in tainted darkness, leaving a pair of armored knights riding red horses. The green demons peeked out and wiggled their fingers, a crackling and scent of ozone filling the air. The armored men on horses readied winged spears and took aim at separate Personas.

Pillar blasted the closest Incubus and Carmen lifted her arm, twirling her thorned whip above her and raising a snowy gale around her that buffeted one of the faltering demons.

Both of the timid green demons blasted Pillar with lightning.

Akira cried out, falling to one knee but clamping his grip on Ann’s arms.

“No,” Ryuji growled. “I can’t just stand here, watching my friends beaten to death in front of me.” He stepped in front of Akira and held a steady march forward.

Carmen slashed her whip, shredding an Incubus.

The remaining grinning demon cracked its knuckles and slashed into Carmen.

The mounted soldiers tapped their horses and advanced with spears raised.

A boy’s voice shouted from nowhere, “We don’t have a track team ‘cause of you!”

Ryuji clenched his fists, but took another step forward.

“No!” Akira shouted. Letting go of Ann, he took a stumbling step at Ryuji. Pillar advanced, churning with fire and darkness, but the first Berith powered a slash knocking it aside.

Akira fell against the bars, then to his knees with one hand struggling to hold himself up and the other clutching his chest.

Carmen blasted the last Incubus with ice, knocking it to the floor in dissolving goo.

The green Agathion unleashed blasts of lightning into both Personas, driving their users to all fours.

A familiar girl’s voice spat into Ryuji’s ears. “Ugh, who’d want to be with some violent thug who even hits teachers?”

Ryuji took another step forward, hands tightening and teeth clenching.

His mother’s voice wailed from nowhere, “You had a track scholarship! Why couldn’t you just be a _good_ boy?”

The Berith advancing on Carmen paused, shifting its empty visor at the ex-track star.

His father’s voice bellowed, “That stupid bitch ain’t worth nothin’!”

Ryuji forced another step, growling in pain as one hand lifted to his dyed-blond hair.

The Agathion lanced lightning into both Personas again.

Akira and Ann collapsed to the ground with cries of pain.

Ann struggled to push herself up off the dirty floor. “I can _not_ let it end here.” She shot a glare at Kamoshida even as her chest heaved breath in. “You have too much to pay for – not just for Shiho, but for everything!”

Akira rolled onto his side, reaching a trembling hand at the Berith staring him down. Pillar shot it with a zig-zagging blast of darkness.

The mounted soldier flinched, then kicked its horse forward and stabbed its spear into Pillar.

Akira rolled away, curling up and howling in agony.

The sound of his mother weeping behind her door rang in Ryuji’s ears.

Trembling, he forced one more step, then hunched as his stomach rebelled and his head pounded in pain.

The Berith staring at him tapped its horse and advanced, lifting its spear for a stab into his throat.

One of his fellow track brothers’ voices whispered from nowhere, “All we can do is endure.”

Ryuji straightened with a pained scream and fire licked over his face, leaving a heavy skull mask. Surprised at the sudden weight, he clawed at his face, catching the mask. He growled in pain when his first tug only sent a shock of pain into his system. Ryuji grit his teeth, refusing to give up. Digging his fingers behind his mask despite the flare of pain, he tore it off with an agonized shriek and splatter of blood.

Hot winds exploded out from him, slamming the Beriths away and both Agathion into the far wall.

Kamoshida gaped at the glowing figure taking shape above Ryuji. “What? I-impossible!”

Ryuji looked Kamoshida in the eye as a pirate cutter the size of a large truck coalesced above him, a humanoid figure a couple meters tall rising up out of it. Blood dribbling down his face, Ryuji spat at the royal-garbed coach. “Believe it or not, you piece of shit, you’re still going down.”

He swiped a hand like throwing a knife and the skeletal figure riding the cutter like a surfboard held aloft a cannon where one of its hands should be. Howling winds tore through the room and both Agathion smashed into the solid stone wall again, collapsing into goo and knocking both Beriths to their horses’ knees.

The gold knight advanced between them, something black and thick like tar oozing out of its joints and its movements twitchy. It burst into a huge, cloaked skeleton wielding a bow and riding an enormous white horse covered with eyes.

Darkness, then a bolt of ice slammed into the mounted soldiers just as they struggled up, knocking them back to their knees.

One Berith, just within reach, swung its spear into the boat-riding figure wearing a tattered cloak and hat bearing the skull-and-crossbones.

Ryuji grunted and snapped up a hand, clenching a fist as if crushing a rotten orange. “Captain Kidd!”

The boat-rider swung his oversized cutlass, driving the Berith to the ground in broken bits of dissolving goo.

An arrow the size of a long spear flitted into Kidd. Ryuji fell, but caught himself on one knee.

Pillar shot a zig-zagging blast of dark at the white rider, but the dozens of eyes on its horse blinked and it leaped out of the way.

Ann struggled to her feet. “Carmen!”

Her frilly-dressed Persona shot an ice ball at the white rider, which dodged. The ball of frost splashed against the wall.

Rider shot Carmen with another huge arrow and Ann collapsed to the ground, clutching her chest.

The remaining Berith charged at Kidd from behind, thrusting its spear.

Kidd parried, slashing its cutlass across the mounted soldier’s neck. The decapitated Shadow fell into dissolving black and red muck.

The towering rider shot Captain Kidd with an arrow.

Ryuji dropped to one knee, planted a hand on his raised knee, and stood back up.

Darkness flitted back and forth, surging up underneath the white rider.

It dodged and returned an arrow into Pillar. Fell back to his knees, clutching his chest with both hands.

Another ball of ice sailed at the skeletal archer, which dodged and snapped another arrow back at Carmen. The dancer twisted out of the way.

Ryuji clenched his fists and began to roar. Captain Kidd grasped the ship’s mast and rode it like a surfboard as wind howled through the room, whipping around the white rider.

The monstrous Shadow ducked its head, its mount’s eyes squeezing closed against the stinging gale.

Carmen flung an ice ball, which veered in the howling wind but hit the horse. Darkness zipped beneath and roared up into the eerie rider.

Ryuji’s breath ran out and he dropped to one knee, the gale relenting.

Rider shot an arrow into Kidd.

Ryuji growled in pain but struggled back up.

Carmen floated closer and lashed out with her whip. Rider dodged, but her whip wrapped around the horse’s neck. Braying, it pulled the thorned whip taught.

Rider shot her with an arrow, and Carmen shuddered but held. Ann fell to both knees, a tear of pain leaking down, but grit her teeth and held her focus.

Darkness roared up from underneath and Kidd blew past, powering a cutlass slash through the rider and its horse, sending it stumbling to the ground. Pillar of Heaven churned and blasted fire into it as ice encrusted the length down the whip and over the many-eyed horse’s neck.

Kidd swung back, slashing a deep blow across the rider’s torso and horse’s neck, casting it into dissolving red and black splatter.

Ryuji collapsed to both knees, breathing hard and covered in a sheen of sweat. “Damn, the… bastard got… away.”

Dismissing his Persona, Akira stumbled but walked closer to Ryuji and reached out to help him to his feet. As they struggled for breath, he looked over the ex-track star’s new look, dominated by heavy black cloth. “I see you’ve finally got a spine.”

Ryuji struggled to smile and frown at the same time. “Screw you, man. Better than your red-light-district magician getup.”

Turning to Ann before she closed the distance under her own power, Akira smirked. “Whatever.” He glanced around, then let out a frustrated huff. “Clearly the palace treasure isn’t here. Let’s go bust out Mo-Byakko.”

Ryuji pointed to the four prisoners on the treadmill. “What about all these guys?”

Akira slipped his hands into his pockets. “They’re figments of Kamoshida’s imagination. This,” he gestured his chin at the dungeon, “is all a product of that bastard’s mind. They’re no more real than that chesty facsimile of Ann that walked in when Ann and I were in the tower of pleasu—”

Face crimson, Ann blurted, “L-let’s just get going.”

As recovered as they were going to get, the three headed out and smashed through the two silver-armored knights guarding his cell to find Morgana tapping his foot inside.

Akira gave a cocky grin. “Good thing we were here to break you out, huh?”

Morgana hrumphed as they struggled to pick the lock open. “It’s technically your fault that I was caught in the first place. They stepped up the guard since that stunt you pulled in the tower of pleasure.”

Ryuji squeezed his eyes shut. “Please never say those words again.”

Morgana looked up, then gaped at the track star half-behind Ann. “You… even got _him_ to awaken? You’re more impressive than I thought.”

Ryuji clenched his fists. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The lock popped and Akira hauled the door open.

Morgana trotted out, shooting the track star a knowing smile. “It means I didn’t think you had it in you, Brawler.”

Ryuji swept out his hands. “Okay, first thing we’re doing is a new name. I ain’t goin’ around with somethin’ embarrassing like that.”

Pausing, Morgana tapped his chin. “Thug.”

Ryuji snarled. “Do you _want_ me to drop this steel-toed boot on your ass? If I’m gonna have _any_ name, it’s gotta be about the mask.”

Akira exclaimed, tone giddy, “Oh, like Moonbeam Man!”

Ryuji sighed. “Seriously, how old are you? Naw, I’ll be Cranium.”

Ann, Akira, and Morgana chorused, “No.”

Ann turned to Ryuji with a half-shrug at Akira. “He could’ve said Tuxedo Mask.”

Ryuji sighed, sounding tired instead of angry. “I will hurt you.”

Akira’s eyes rolled up and he ticked through silent options on his fingers before clapping. “Namahage?”

“Ugh, no,” Ryuji grumped. “Do I look like I’m wearing a costume made of straw?”

Ann crossed her arms tighter. “What about Reaper?”

Ryuji bobbed his head. “Yeah, I can dig that.” He looked back at Akira. “I’ve been meanin’ to ask. What’s up with your face?”

Akira held up a hand to his cheek, then flinched and hissed in pain.

“Ohhh,” Ann muttered. “Yeah, from that knight.”

“Huh?” Ryuji said, blinking.

Ann gestured to where the guard knights used to be. “One of those knights hit him right across the face with that metal hand.”

Morgana growled, staring down the corridor they came from. “If I hadn’t been caught, I could’ve been _right_ there to help defeat the palace ruler.”

Akira sighed. “Consolation is there was no treasure down there.”

Morgana shook his head. “I didn’t think there was, it feels like we’ve been getting farther away from it.”

Ryuji frowned, tapping a steel-toed boot. “You knew where it was to start with?”

Eyebrows furrowing, Morgana faced Ryuji straight-on. “Not exactly.” He pointed at Akira as he looked up. “When you mentioned the Training Hall of Love, I thought you had reliable intel.” Looking back to Ryuji, he noticed how the runner braced a hand against the bars. “You two haven’t even recovered from yesterday, and Ryuji’s burning up energy fast. I know you all want to see this finished quickly, but if we rush in unprepared that does nobody any good.”

Akira growled, “But we’ve gotten _nowhere_.”

Ann wavered on her feet, one hand taking Ryuji’s offered hand to help stand steady. “I… I’m not feeling so good, Joker.”

Ryuji held his free hand to his forehead. “The cat’s right—”

“I am _not_ a cat!”

Akira opened his hands, closed them into fists, then forced his fingers open again. His jaws clenched, but when he looked at Ann, his eyes fell to the floor and he let out a defeated breath. At that signal, the group started walking for the exit.

Ryuji came up next to Akira. “Hey, if we’re headin’ out anyway, I got an idea.”

Akira growled, but when he spotted Ann clutching her stomach, he let out a heavy breath. “Fine. I’m listening.”

Folding his arms against his chest, Ryuji smirked. “It looked like you guys were really dependent on your Personas.”

Ann stopped and turned on the former track star. “Did you not _see_ the kind of monsters we’re up against? Some of them almost killed Joker twice yesterday. They almost killed us all today.”

Ryuji nodded. “That’s just my point. We need some firepower.”

Sighing, Akira pressed his hand against his side, wishing he had a hot or cold compress. “If you’re about to suggest we lift a Scottish claymore from a local museum, I don’t think I can fit that under my school jacket.”

“I mean guns, dumbass,” Ryuji snapped.

“Ryu—Reaper,” Akira started, nonplussed, “this is Japan. I may have a record, but even _I_ don’t know how to get my hands on guns. What do you think I am, yakuza?”

Ryuji grinned underneath his heavy skull mask. “Wouldn’t have to be _real_ guns if we’re not using them in a _real_ castle, eh?”

Ann shot him a glare. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Morgana stopped and turned to him, eyes widening. “No, actually, it’s brilliant.” He gave a wide grin. “I’d have never expected it from you, Reaper.”

Ryuji smiled and puffed out his chest as they all headed towards the entrance. A little while later, he stopped walking. “Hey, wait. What’s that supposed to mean?”


	9. April 14th, Part 4, Outcast Bond

Persona 5: Daywatch

Thursday, 14 April 2016  
Early Evening  
Front Gate of Shujin Academy

Ann glanced out of the alley in front of Shujin Academy. Dark doors and the distant sound of traffic met her senses. Satisfied the coast was clear, she rubbed at her shoulder, then stretched it out with a wince. “I guess we’re off on our own way for now. I just wish we had a quick way to get together.”

Morgana hopped up onto one of the air-conditioning units to look them closer to eye-to-eye. “Like a secret hideout.” He purred. “We’d be like the classic thieves.”

“I am not a thief,” Akira muttered, then rubbed at a bruise he felt forming below his ribs. “Well, you guys are the ones who’ve been here the longest. Where’s a quiet spot to hide out when we don’t want to be overheard?”

Ryuji shrugged. “Nobody ever goes up on the roof.”

Ann’s eyes rolled up for a moment. “I guess not. The roof it is, then.”

Ryuji slouched against the air conditioning units, favoring his left leg. “Man, I’m gonna sleep like a baby when I get home.”

Akira smirked. “Up every thirty minutes?”

Ryuji rolled his eyes. “Speakin’ of time, I feel like we were stuck in there for days! I’ve had track meets that didn’t wipe me out that much.”

Rubbing an eye with the heel of his palm, Akira nodded. “I could use some rest, too.” He drew his phone. “Before we split, we should exchange contact info. Being physically present all the time shouldn’t be necessary if we can just call or text each other. If anything comes up, go ahead and send me a ring.”

Morgana’s ears drooped. “What about me? I can’t contact you from the Metaverse.”

Akira finished checking Ryuji’s number, then looked to their smallest member. “So stay in this world.”

Ryuji stretched out his leg. “They don’t allow pets at my place.”

Morgana turned a hopeful look to Ann, but she shook her head. “My father’s allergic to cats. If he came home and saw you, he’d blow his top, cat or no.”

Morgana’s ears drooped.

“I guess that means you’re stuck with me.” Akira smirked and collected his school bag. “Tough luck.”

Ryuji pointed a steady finger at Akira. “Don’t you dare forget to call me before you go back.”

Akira tisked. “You shouldn’t have to worry about that, you’re showing me that place we can get guns from.”

Ryuji’s stomach growled. “Man… I’ll have to do that tomorrow. I’m starvin’.”

Akira waved at him with a, “Pshaw.” Then his stomach growled.

“Even _I_ feel like I could eat a horse,” Ann declared. Then she flinched, holding a hand to her ribs. “Okay, not a horse.”

Ryuji smirked and slipped his hands in his pockets. “Well, if we’re all rarin’ ta go, I happen to know a great place.

Akira squinted at him. “If this is a greasy back-alley gastropub…”

Waving him off, Ryuji stepped out in the road and turned for the train station. “Nah, it’s a Chinese joint, real authentic. But they got ramen bowls if you’re hankerin’ for Japanese cookin’.”

Thursday, 14 April 2016  
Evening  
Nerima, Chinese Restaurant Nekohanten

Traditional styling gave a warm, homey feel to the restaurant tucked between a commercial and residential neighborhood. Ryuji slurped down a long noodle, then looked up from his soup. “So, transfer—”

“The name’s Akira,” he snapped, then tore into the small mountain of sliced pork on his plate.

“Sorry,” Ryuji said, at least having the grace to look sheepish. “You really got a criminal record?”

“Sakamoto!” Ann chastised.

“No, it’s okay.” Akira swallowed a bite of pork and peppers, then poked at his meal. Bringing up his checkered past might have brought up anger before, but between the hunger and pain from the fight leading up to Ryuji’s awakening, Akira couldn’t manage anything more than a self-derisive smirk. “To be honest, I’m just pissed off that the one time I _did_ get arrested, I didn’t even actually beat the guy. It’s not like I haven’t gotten into fights, they all just got swept under the rug.”

Ryuji stirred at his soup, looking for another piece of shrimp. “You have a lotta assholes back home?”

“I wouldn’t call it home, and no.” Akira swallowed and picked at his pork. “Sure, it would’ve been great to be one of those nice guys everybody’s friends with, but everyone knew my old bastard.” He lifted another slice, watching the pink meat dangle. “All I wanted was for people to know that I wasn’t him. The last time I made a real effort to play nice with people outside the chess club was basketball. The captain saw me and said ‘hey, it’s the creepy geek’s kid’. That was when I decided, what’s the point playing nice if people are going to treat me like I’m a monster anyway?”

Ann stared at the piece of white fish between her chopsticks. “You’re not the only one who had no friends. I was born in Finland and my parents were always busy with fashion shows. We were traveling all the time.” Her eyes took a distant look and a nostalgic smile pulled at her mouth. “That’s why I decided to go into modeling. When I’m in front of the camera, no matter how silly the dress, it’s like… I’m right there with them. When I came here, everybody saw me and said ‘hey, it’s the foreign girl’. Shiho was the first one who actually came up to me and talked _with_ me, instead of hanging back and talking _at_ me.”

Hunching over his bowl, Akira swallowed a large bite. “What about you, Sakamoto?”

“Dude, that’s what my teachers call me an’ they don’t even want anythin’ to do with me.” He flashed a smile. “Just Ryuji is cool, yo!” His smile faded. “My old man wasn’t exactly a model father.” He pulled a shrimp out of the soup, letting it drip a second before stuffing it in his mouth. “When he finally left, mom wanted me to make somethin’ of myself at a new school. I started runnin’. Got into Shujin and crushed the track team quals.” His eyes took a faraway look and he swallowed. “She looked so happy when I came home and said I might be gettin’ a sports scholarship.”

“Yeah,” Ann said around a mouth full of fish. “Shujin isn’t cheap.”

Ryuji’s face flinched in a bitter grimace. “Then that asshole had to go screw it all up. He called it self-defense, but he was abusin’ us, too.” His eyes squinted, a brief flicker of intense hatred. “One day… I couldn’t take it no more and let him have it. He broke my leg and the next week the track club was disbanded.”

Akira snorted and picked up a long chunk of pork. “I guess that means we’re all a bunch of misfits. No wonder you guys haven’t ditched me yet.”

Ann looked him over with tense, arched eyebrows.

“You know,” Ryuji said, “you never did say _how_ you got a record, exactly.”

“Oh, that?” Akira swallowed the rest of the chunk of pork. “I was reading late at Inuri High one evening. On the way home, I spotted some drunk trying to force a woman into his car. Mother or the old bastard would’ve walked away. That’s all I need to know that’s the wrong thing to do. So I dove in there and pulled him off her. The dumbass was so sloshed he tripped on himself and fell on one of those concrete barriers separating the road from the sidewalk. I didn’t know he was one of my old bastard’s benefactors until the cops pulled up with their headlights on.” Akira chuckled. “He stood up and said,” his tone dropped, “I will bury you.”

Ann looked up from her fish. “Your father didn’t try to do anything to help you?”

Akira snorted with a deep frown. “They pulled out the red carpet whenever that prick came around. My old bastard was the one who suggested kicking me out. He was so proud of the idea he told _me_.” He popped another slice of pepper in his mouth. “Besides, the idiot was drunk. You know nobody takes what you do seriously if you’re drunk. So _I’m_ the one with the felony.”

“Damn!” Ryuji snapped, slamming a fist against the table next to his bowl. The napkin holder and pepper shaker jumped from the impact. “What an asshole!”

“Dude,” Akira said, “Chill. It’s in the past.” He ate in silence for a moment, then shrugged and pointed his chopsticks at himself. “Only guilty man in Shawshank.” When Ann and Ryuji shot him confused looks, he sighed. “I think of it like this: I may not deserve _those_ charges, but I’m not innocent. Besides, at least I’m away from the old bastard.”

Ann scrutinized him out of the corner of her eye. “Wow, you really know how to let life roll off your back.”

Akira rotated his shoulder, feeling an unpleasant tingle at praise.

Ryuji tilted his bowl and drank the broth, then brought it down to the table hard. “Between what you did at Kamoshida’s office and inside that castle, you’re one of the…” He shrugged. “I dunno how to say it… most _real_ people I know. You ever need somethin’, I got your back.”

Akira swallowed a mouthful of noodles, his throat feeling tight and his eyes unable to meet the others’.

Thursday, 14 April 2016  
Late Evening  
Yongen, Leblanc

Akira pushed at the door, but it swung in with no resistance, the bell tinkling and a woman standing right there past it. Her black, biker’s leather jacket looked generic enough, but the green dress had a spiderweb pattern to it and her black pants had holes slashed across the front.

Morgana hopped up in his bag, bracing on Akira’s shoulder to check out the cause for the stop.

Akira stepped back to let her out. “’scuse me.”

She gave a polite nod, but paused when her eyes fell on Morgana. “Nice cat,” she said before walking on.

Morgana growled, “I am _not_ a cat.”

Akira shook his shoulders to drive Morgana back into the bag as he walked in.

Newspaper crinkled as Sojiro looked up from the end of the counter. “You’re pretty late today.”

Akira shrugged. With his belly full, his aches returned and all he wanted to do was lie down. “Who’s the punk rocker?” he jerked a thumb at the door.

Sojiro snorted, lifting his newspaper. “She’s the doctor at the clinic down the corner.”

Akira slipped his hands in his pockets. “The one selling drugs? Who gives half-assed exams?”

Sojiro’s eyes narrowed. “Where’d you hear something like that?”

Akira shrugged. “People talk. I learned early on in life how important it can be to pick up on the little details some people whisper.”

Sojiro flicked the newspaper in his hands to try to straighten it. “She may sell weird homebrewed medicines or whatever, but as far as I know she’s a legit doctor. I haven’t been there, myself, but I bet neither have any of the people spreading those rumors. It’s not like she’s doing anything to them. I don’t know why they’d bother talking about someone they never deal with.”

Akira stared down, feeling a strange sense of empathy for the woman facing the uphill battle of a bad reputation. “We’re the easiest targets.” He paced toward the stairs.

Sojiro looked Akira up and down. “Were you limping yesterday? I hope you’re not getting into trouble.”

“You know me,” Akira threw back. “Trouble is my stage name.”

Sojiro sighed. “Well, if you’re joking it can’t be that bad. As long as it’s not trouble with the law, I don’t really care. Just remember that as long as you’re staying here, anything you do could reflect on _my_ livelihood.”

Akira’s eyes fell to the floor with a heavy sigh. “I got it.” He slipped around Sojiro, trotted upstairs, let Morgana out, then started cleaning the table next to the couch.

Morgana sniffed at a bag of coffee beans. “Is this an abandoned warehouse?”

Akira snorted. “I wish, at least that would be cool. This is just Sakura’s attic.” He set a stack of books in a bin, then paused. “There’s a lot of books on psychology up here. I wonder if he was more involved in Isshiki’s research than he let on.” He paused in between book piles. “Recognize any of this?”

Morgana hopped down to the floor to scan the titles on the spines of the indicated stack. His ears curled down. “Uh… I don’t think so.” He looked up at Akira. “Why?”

The student stacked more books and set them down to sort into unwanted, suspicious, and a small stack for personal use. “I was wondering if you might have been involved in Isshiki’s research, too. You seemed to have a real knack for the Metaverse.”

Morgana smirked and stretching himself up a little. “Well, you _did_ luck across the Metaverse’s greatest thief extraordinaire. That castle is just one of many Palaces that sprang up from the people of this place. While I was exploring it, I found lots of places representing Kamoshida’s suppressed self.”

“You mean he’s not just a rapist with delusions of adequacy?”

Morgana pointed a clawed paw at him. “Don’t be too eager to dismiss him. Kamoshida may be small fry in comparison to some, but you all have only begun your journey through the Metaverse. You’ve already seen some of the things he longs to sate – his lust and his longing for power. However, he’s also driven by fear and all the inertia of his past life.”

Heavy footsteps tromped up the stairs, and Sojiro’s voice projected, “Are you watching cat videos?” He reached the top of the stairs and his eyes locked onto Morgana. “A stray? This is a restaurant! I can’t afford to let pets run around.”

Akira stood up, finding his hands curling into fists on the way. “Morgana was abandoned.”

“I was what?” Morgana blinked at Akira.

“Morgana?” Sojiro scratched his head.

Akira stacked books from the shelf against the wall. “That’s his name.”

Sojiro stroked his goatee for a few moments as he stared at the cat. “I suppose if you’re already that attached, you’ll be on better behavior.” He let out a sigh with a hint of wistfulness. “But _you’re_ taking care of it.”

Akira straightened the stack of books against the wall, then stood up and snapped a British salute. “Right-o, Boss.”

Rolling his eyes, Sojiro trotted downstairs.

Morgana hopped up on the desk in the corner. “Is that the ruler of this place?”

Scowling, Akira said, “He’s not a…” A deep breath passed before he chuckled. “You know what? I guess he kind of is.”

Morgana swept his gaze across the half-cleaned attic. “He seems pretty understanding for a guy keeping you crammed in this dump.”

Akira chuckled, going back to stacking and sorting out books and other detritus. “You must not know much about housing. This may be an attic, but it’s probably twice as big as most apartments in Tokyo.” His eyes rolled up. “Well, the ones _I’d_ have a prayer of affording. It’s not a cell, anyway. The cell my old bastard kept me in? I could touch both walls if I stretched my hands straight out.”

One of Morgana’s ears twisted down. “Why do you keep saying that? What is an ‘old bastard’?”

Akira sighed, set down the last of his stack of books in the sort, then sat on the corner of the bed with a sigh. “Well… other people have a father. It’s not just the person who donated the half of your genes to allow you to live, he’s supposed to be a person who provides for you. He gives you shelter, a safe place to stay. When you’re lost or confused he’s supposed to teach you. He gives discipline so you grow up to be a good person, but he doesn’t beat you or shackle you as bait in terrifying experiments. He never lies to you, never makes you feel like you’re an unwanted mistake. A father is supposed to be the person who builds you up so you can go out into the world. He gives you that little push when you’re unsure.”

Morgana started sniffing the air, but kept an ear on Akira. The transfer student took off his glasses and rubbed a palm against one eye. “That’s what you have to do to be a father. If you can’t do that, you’re not a father, you’re an accidental parent.” Setting his glasses back on, Akira spotted Sojiro’s head poking up from the stairs. “You don’t have to eavesdrop from that far away.”

Striding up with a gait too stiff to be nonchalant, Sojiro avoided eye contact as he walked in with a plate of tuna. “I… uh… thought the little guy should at least have something to eat.”

Morgana’s eyes grew wide as Sojiro set the plate of tuna down on the desk. “Now that is a generous man. _You_ didn’t bring me any meat when you went to that place with Lady Ann.”

Akira’s phone vibrated, but he held off answering when he noticed Sojiro still there looking at Morgana.

“He just kept on calling out in that cute little voice.”

Akira covered his mouth to hide his smile.

Sojiro turned on him, straight and all-business. “Make sure you wash that dish.”

Akira snapped him a British salute. “Aye-aye, Boss.”

Sojiro shook his head and left.

Smirking, Morgana looked up from the half-eaten plate of tuna. “Looks like he likes _me_ more than _you_.”

“Laugh it up, fuzzball.” Akira crossed his arms. After a moment of watching Morgana eat, he straightened. “You seem to be comfortable eating straight from a plate. Were you an eating contest champion?”

Morgana licked a paw, then cleaned off his muzzle. “To be honest, I don’t remember. Listening to you all talk about your lives growing up made me realize I must’ve lost a lot to the distortions in the Metaverse, not just my form. That’s why we’ve got to go back into that castle. I’m _sure_ we can clear up the distortions, and I can get my real body back.”

“Well,” Akira said, picking up more junk and moving it to a bin already lined with a black trash bag. “As long as you’re backing me up with this, I’ll back you up with that. It’s only fair.”

Morgana smiled. “Well, if you’re that certain, I guess I could pass along some of my knowledge. This keen mind and these dexterous paws aren’t just for show. I could show you plenty about infiltration tools.”

“You could help me make a new tension wrench? I had to leave the crew’s old tools behind when I moved.”

Straightening, Morgana scrutinized Akira. “You already know about picking locks?”

Akira dropped some broken chunks of styrofoam packing into the trash bin, then gave an uncomfortable shrug. “Me and the guys used to go all sorts of places where we weren’t invited. I wasn’t the expert, I just tended to carry the tools because I was the only one who ever got away from Kung-fu Cop. I’m more curious about that smoke canister. That could be useful if we need to do some sneaking or escaping after they already know we’re there.”

“I don’t know if all my tools will work in this world, but I’ll teach you what I can.” Morgana leaned back down to lick off the plate.

That conversation over, Akira took out his phone, hoping to see an update on Shiho from Ann. To his surprise, it was Ryuji.

[About this treasure and palace stuff you guys were talking about… how's that work?]

Akira checked with Morgana, sitting down at the stool against the bench so he could read in, then typed in the explanation to Ryuji.

It took a few moments for Ryuji to type out a reply. [Wait a minute, isn't desire a good thing? I mean… when I was in the track team, I had plenty of days I didn't wanna go to school. But training with the guys was enough to get me up and out.]

Morgana flicked an ear. “It’s true. We’re all defined by our desires. To eat, sleep, to build something, to fall in love—”

“Oh, please,” Akira barked. “Love’s just running around trying to entertain yourself while still calling yourself an adult.”

Morgana’s ears folded back and his eyebrows rose. “Where on earth would you get a strange idea like that? Love is the glue that holds families together, that forms new ones.”

Akira adjusted his seating and pushed up his glasses to rub at one eye in an effort to stave off exhaustion. “I hear about love all the damn time.” He raised his voice to mimic the airheads at Inuri, “I _love_ chocolate!” He lowered his voice a bit, adding more of a western twang to mimic his mother, “I love sex!” Akira straightened. “'Love' is people trying to excuse not having control.”

Morgana stared at him. “We’ll have to talk about this later. About stealing a Treasure, if _all_ of a person’s desires were taken away, he’d shut down.” Akira forwarded a quick summary.

[So Kamoshida could turn brain dead if we mess up? I may be pissed at him, but I dunno if I want to go so far as killing him.]

Akira ground his teeth. [Ryuji, I used to think there was only one person in the world so evil he deserved to die. Then Kamoshida raped Suzui.]

Morgana looked over Akira. “You feel really strong about her. How long was she your friend?”

Blushing, Akira let out a wistful sigh at the memory of her beautiful smile. “Uh… Three days.”

Morgana backed up, eyes wide. “_Three_ _days_?”

Akira found himself unable to make eye contact. It felt like months to him. “It’s not just about her. I came from… a really bad place. I needed somewhere good when I left there. She was the only one at Shujin with the strength and kindness to smile. When Kamoshida hurt her, he didn’t just take _that_ away. He took it away from _me_.” The instant the words were out of his mouth, Akira realized how selfish they sounded. “He took it away from Ann, her boyfriend Mishima, her class. He hurt the entire school.”

Morgana looked back down to the instant messenger. “I’m surprised you’re forwarding all of this to Ryuji. I was kind of expecting you to edit what you said to make him feel more cooperative.”

Akira shot him a nasty look. “I’m not the most honest of people, but I don’t like tricking people into things. If Ryuji’s on board, I don’t want it to be ‘cause I have him hooked on a line. That’s the kind of thing my old bastard would do.”

[I get what you're saying, but if we go so far as to kill him just because we don't like him… isn't that a little too close to what he does? Crushing everything he doesn’t like? Sure, I want him to pay for what he did. I just don't know if I want to become a murderer over him.]

[I've been over this with Ann. The volleyball team's keeping mum, the parents and teachers all turn a blind eye for the glory of Shujin. You and I are already outcasts. I know I lost it back there in his office, but you've heard the rumors after. Almost nobody believes it, and the few who do would never stand up and say it out loud. Going into that world is the only option we have. If you want to sit out, _I_ will protect Shujin from him.] Akira turned off his phone and set it on the wide sill next to the bed before changing. A long day of school came before Ryuji’s mysterious gun connection.

Thursday, 14 April 2016  
Night  
Velvet Room

Besides the metal slab he lay on, the first thing to intrude on Akira’s consciousness was soft, gloved clapping. Crushed blue velvet lined the padded walls. He pushed himself to his feet, though he noted the slab of a bunk didn’t feel as cold as a chunk of metal should.

“So the prisoner awakens,” the voice as deep as the Marianas Trench resonated from the center of the room. Igor folded his gloved hands together, his unnerving smile wide as ever. Akira noticed a glass cylinder on his desk, an iron spike jutting down through the middle holding up a few glass marbles, which held up another two iron spikes. “And already he has begun training other thieves.”

Akira pulled the ball weight to give himself some slack before walking to the bars and bracing his forearms against them. “I’d like a quarter-pounder with extra cheese and a side order of some God-damn clarity.”

A resonant chuckle rumbled from the center of the panopticon. “No need to understand everything all at once. You must now hone the power of your Persona.”

The wanna-be warden with a clipboard stared into him. “Personas are like an armor against the troubles of the world.”

Akira scoffed at her. “I don’t need armor. I find the problem and attack.”

Igor gave a belly-full laugh. After a few moments, he clapped his gloved hands. “So tell me what you think of the Metaverse Navigator.”

Standing up from the door of bars, Akira tilted his head. “The what?”

An electric zap sounded with the clang of Caroline’s baton crashing against the bars. “Honestly, Inmate, haven’t you been paying attention? The app you use to travel into the Palaces of the Metaverse.”

Igor lowered his hands to the desk. “This shall be the tool enabling your rehabilitation. Since you have already begun gathering allies, I shall grant it to them as well.”

Akira’s steel gaze narrowed. He spared a glance at the hot-headed wanna-be before slouching against the barred door, braced on his forearms. “What kind of _rehabilitation_ would require training me or my friends as a thief?”

The suited man’s smile remained wide. “Involving others is the path _you_ have chosen in your rehabilitation. Cultivate these new relationships. Go out and seek out more of those who have been robbed of their places to belong. They shall lend you their strength and help you mature.”

Akira wavered, but couldn’t tamp down his interest. “Robbed of their place to belong?”

Justine clasped her clipboard with both hands, her gaze intense despite the guarded neutrality of her posture. “Your Persona is the strength of your heart. While training it in combat against Shadows directly will make it stronger, the bonds surrounding you will do so as well.”

Akira bristled. “My persona came from my own personal rage and defiance. I refused to hand Takamaki over to those things in Kamoshida’s head. How the hell is buddying up to strangers going to help it?”

Caroline smashed her electrified baton against the bars, driving him back. “People all over the city have talents you could only dream of. Get their support and _maybe_ we’ll be able to help turn that into something even a weakling like you could use.”

Igor reached out a gloved hand. “Even _I_ could support your power, if you truly desire to reach your ambitions.”

A chill crept along Akira’s spine. “What do you know about my ambitions?”

He responded only with a deep chuckle before everything faded.


	10. April 15th, Big Man

Persona 5: Daywatch

Friday, 15 April 2016  
After School  
Front Gates of Shujin

Akira turned around, pacing a little oval in the turf between the opening of the building proper and the front gates. Most students ignore his presence, but a red-eyed girl with a braided hairband met eye contact, her gaze narrowing for a moment as if to say, “I see you,” before the exiting throng forced her to walk on.

Akira got close to the walkway, several students recognizing him enough to veer away, but he turned back to the lawn and the flow returned to normal. The students buzz with gossip, most irrelevant drivel but one girl amid the exiting stampede asking, “Did you hear what he said to Kamoshida? There’s no way!”

At last, a dyed-blond head appeared and Akira stormed to him. “What the hell took you?”

Ryuji’s hands drifted out of his pockets and he returned the almost-glare. “Dude, it’s only been ten minutes since classes got out.”

“Look, it’s the two delinquents!”

“At least they’ll be expelled soon.”

Akira whirled to the gate. “Let’s just get going.” He paused to take a quick scan of the crowd, but saw no specific people holding attention on him. “I get the weird feeling that girl with the hairband’s got me marked.”

The two jogged to the train station and caught a ride to Shibuya, coming out to Station Square. When Ryuji trotted into the mass of people without a breath of hesitation, Akira couldn’t muster the courage to make an excuse, but the chaotic storm of people spiked his anxiety and he found himself pushing back.

Pausing near the north end of Station Square, Ryuji glanced back and spotted Akira shoving through a salaryman but breathing heavy. The urban veteran raised an eyebrow at the transfer student. “You good?”

Akira grimaced but refused to show weakness. “Let’s just get there.”

Ryuji shrugged and walked into the crowd towards Central Street.

Akira followed, attempting to keep a straight course but bumped and jostled by the throngs of humanity. When he shoved yet another person out of his way and saw fists on the hands he retracted, he realized his anger was starting to get away from him and he shoved his hands in his pockets.

Hearing a shout of dismay, Ryuji paused in front of a bookstore to turn and look back at Akira, bulling through a slow-moving clump of people. The former track star leaned against the brick at the end of the shop and waited for Akira to stop next to him.

The transfer student braced a hand against the glass storefront, shoulders rising and falling as he forced air in and out of his lungs.

“Dude,” Ryuji said, eyebrow raised at the pale face and snarl on his fellow student’s face. He almost looked ready to bolt. Ryuji stood up to be sure Akira looked at him. “You sure you’re okay?”

Akira took a short but clear lunging step at Ryuji, baring his teeth. A beat passed and he withdrew, looking no less haggard. “Is it like this all the time?”

“For real?” Ryuji chuckled, shaking out his shoulders. “This is Shibuya-ku, Tokyo. It ain’t even a busy day.” When Akira angled away from the crowd, the blond bit down a snort of amusement. “Takamaki wasn’t kidding when she said you don’t like crowds.”

Akira’s lip twitched, revealing teeth, but he pulled back. “I don’t like the crowds _at the school_.” His eyes scanned the bookstore beyond the window. “I thought I was ready for out and about in general, but I feel like a sardine in a can.”

Ryuji laughed. “I know, ain’t it great?”

Akira glowered.

Ryuji put up his hands, fighting to keep down a smirk. “I mean, if you’re not up to the challenge, I could always—”

Bared teeth and fire blazing in his eyes and stomach, Akira shouted at him, “I am _not_ useless. Failure is—” He bit his tongue to regain control, wincing. “Sorry.” Looking up, he noticed a smirk growing on Ryuji’s face. “Oh, stop smiling.”

Ryuji chuckled and led him the few remaining paces left to the alley. “Well, you made it.” He jerked his shoulder at a nearby alley. “Shop’s right back here. You know anything about guns?”

Akira blinked. “Never look into the barrel, and if in doubt… it’s loaded.”

Ryuji tilted his head and looked Akira up and down. “Really? That’s it?” When Akira failed to respond, he cleared his throat. “I kinda pictured you as a closet gun nut.”

Finally separated from the apathetic mass of humanity, Akira straightened and took in a deep breath. “The closest thing I have to experience with guns is playing Resonance of Fate at Yoshida’s.”

Ryuji led him to the front door and pushed it open. “At least tell me you know the difference between an automatic and a revolver.”

Now Akira shot a baffled look at him. “Are we talking about cars now?”

A wielded, cross-linked grating stretched across the counter, realistic model guns on the far side. Scattered common goods like dust masks and cotton swabs hung from hooks on the customer side. Coats, survival and military-surplus-type goods occupied the rest of the customer space, but a surly man with a heavy coat and hat looked up from a sporting goods magazine and made eye contact with Ryuji. “So, Little Man returns. Did you decide you stick out like a sore thumb either way and you’re keepin’ the bleached hair?”

Ryuji scoffed, yet smiled. “A man who’s his own man doesn’t _need_ to blend in.”

“Nope,” Akira said, coming to a stop next to Ryuji. “Only men who want to make it to the next paycheck.”

The shop owner snorted, the corners of his lips curling up, and maneuvered the white stick in his mouth to the other side.

Ryuji gestured to Akira. “I brought fresh meat.”

Mister Cool and Surly turned the page in his magazine. “You’re still not getting a discount.”

Ryuji slumped. “Aw.” He looked up at Akira. “So, what kind do you think you like?”

“There’s a lot here,” Akira answered. He tilted his head up at some bunch of tubes hanging from the metal girders above. “What’s the plumbing doing hanging from the ceiling?”

Ryuji puffed out his chest and gave a proud smile. “That, my friend, is an RG-6 forty millimeter semi-automatic grenade launcher designed by Izhmash.”

Cool and Surly turned another page in his magazine, eyes still down. “It was designed by the Central Design and Research Bureau of Hunting and Sporting Weapons. Izhmash was the manufacturer group—”

“Of the single-shot underbarrel version,” Ryuji said, swiping a fist with a familiar self-disappointment on his face.

Akira smiled and jabbed an elbow into Ryuji’s side. “Damn, you just geeked out on me.”

Ryuji kicked at the worn carpet floor. “Everybody’s got to have a hobby.”

Akira chuckled.

Ryuji shifted so he could point at the array of faux weapons on the other side of the grating. “So what do you think you’d like to start with? Revolvers? Pistols? SMGs?” He looked down at the lounging shop owner. “You got assault rifles too, right, Big Man?”

Cool and Surly turned another page, eyes on some article. “Not for casuals, Little Man.”

Ryuji turned back to Akira, an eager glint in his eyes. “Let’s start you off with somethin’ classic, but powerful. Somethin’ easy ta grip and aim. The MP-443 Grach.”

Cool and Surly stood. “One Rook, comin’ up.”

Akira rubbed his shoulder. “Ann’s gonna want something, too.”

Ryuji gave a leering smile. “Don’t worry, I already thought of that.” He elbowed Akira. “With that suit of hers, I can _totally_ see her totin’ a PP-91 KEDR with a laser sight.”

“Mods are extra.”

“But she’ll like the base version,” Ryuji finished without missing a beat.

Cool and Surly plopped the magazine onto the laptop behind the grating and headed to the back.

Akira grinned. “I hope you know what all those things are, because you might as well have been speaking Greek.”

Ryuji laughed, looking more relaxed than Akira ever noted before. “I had two great loves since I started high school.” He held up an index finger. “Track,” then he extended his pinky, “and guns,” then head-banged to some tune inside his own mind. Chuckling at his own joke, he lowered his hand and looked Akira in the eye. “What about you?”

Akira shrugged, rubbing the back of his own head as he looked at the guns on display behind the heavy wire grating. “We played a whole bunch of strategy games in chess club at Inuri High. I may not have really made friends with the other guys, but I liked the games.”

“Were they really rude?”

“A few,” Akira conceded, slipping in hands in his pockets. “But most were just really quiet. It was like you weren’t allowed to talk or do _anything_ besides think of your next move.” Akira scratched his neck. “Granted, I think a lot of that was because they were all nervous of me, but… still. I was kinda hoping to make a new start with a club like that at Shujin where nobody knew me or my family.”

Ryuji scanned the transfer student and his slouched shoulders. “I getcha. I’m sure you don’t need any further reason to go after him, but I bet it was that effin Kamoshida who leaked your record in the first place.”

The shop owner returned and set two paper boxes on his side of the counter, eyes flicking to Ryuji with a casual air. “I already know you, but,” his gaze slid to Akira and hardened. “Just to be sure, even though these are models, don’t go ‘round pointing ‘em at people.”

Akira snorted. “If anybody even thought I _might_ have a gun, I’d have so many goddamn fuzz on my ass I’d look like a cop parade.”

A short moment of consideration passed through Cool and Surly slid the smaller box out to the square opening at the counter. “These ones are models for enthusiasts. Real guns feel… different.” His eyes flicked to Ryuji for a moment. “Maybe one day I’ll show you the good stuff, but for now you start at the bottom of the ladder.” He pointed a lazy hand at Ryuji. “Just like him and everyone else. That’ll be six thousand yen.”

Akira’s jaw dropped. “_Six_ thousand?”

Ryuji sidled closer. “These ain’t no gundam models, this is serious quality merch. The kinda stuff you’d mount on the mantle.” His eyes flicked to the shop owner, then he turned away from Cool and Surly and leaned closer to whisper, “Just think how useful it’ll be in the castle.”

Frowning, Akira pulled out his wallet. “Yeah, fine. _You’re_ paying for Ann’s.”

Thin-lipped, Ryuji pulled out his own duct-taped wallet. “_This_ time.”

Friday, 15 April 2016  
Evening  
Shibuya, Central Street

Akira trotted down the stairs and turned around a crowd of people meandering towards the train station. With no place in particular he wanted to go, he let whimsy take him down the narrower, grimier streets of Shibuya.

Morgana popped his head out of the bag and stared up at the skyline. “The sun’s going down. How long until your curfew?”

Akira groaned. “Now I _really_ don’t want to go back to Leblanc. It’s not like Sakura-san’s a horrible human being, but _damn_ sometimes I can’t stand him and his lecturing. Sometimes I don’t know whether he thinks I’m a bad person or not.”

Voices down the narrowing alleys perked his ears and Akira crept closer, peering around a corner to a dirty side street. Some woman in a dark dress and leather jacket crossed her arms. She looked familiar.

A few paces in front of her stood a gangly man in a leopard-print silk shirt hanging sloppy on his frame. “…think you’re the only doc who can write prescriptions in Tokyo?”

The woman tapped a plastic case almost as big as a suitcase against her side. “I’m the only one offering the bulk you’re asking for. Amphetamines aren’t exactly easy to get. It takes a lot of effort to keep my suppliers _and_ the government in the dark.”

The gravelly-voiced man switched a brown paper sack from one hand to the other. “The head honcho’s puttin’ the squeeze on everyone in Shibuya.”

Despite being alone with a man in a dark alley, the woman held a confident, almost bored pose. “My concern is getting the drugs you demand. I know very well you’re making a lot more than you’re paying for them. If you want me to be able to keep this up, just pay the five hundred thousand we agreed on last time.”

Leopard Print tisked. “This ain’t gonna fly _every_ day.”

“That’s why we’re doing this at night,” she responded, holding out her free hand. “Now if we can just do this? I have _real_ medicine to do.”

Leopard Print threw the brown paper sack at her.

Stepping back, she caught it and set her plastic medical container to the ground to open the sack and count. After a few moments, she looked up. “This is four hundred thousand.”

Leopard Print reached into his pocket and threw a handful of taped rounds of cash at her.

The woman grabbed for them, dropping the sack and knocking over the plastic container. Leopard Print chuckled, but after confirming the count the woman slid the plastic container across the pavement at him. He picked it up, smirked, and strolled away.

The woman in dark clothes stuffed the cash in the paper sack, shoved it in her purse, then walked away. Her platform shoes made the metal storm grating clack under her feet. She continued a few paces towards central street, then stopped and leaned against a cleaner segment of brick wall under a light. The pause in good lighting allowed Akira to make out her dark hair, a studded leather choker around her neck, and the rips in her jeans. She looked up at the sky. “I’m sorry, Miwa-chan. I never wanted this. If I can just make it up to you…at least I can make _that_ right.”

Curiosity stirred, Akira slipped his hands into his pockets and stepped out from the corner behind her. “So who’s Miwa-chan?”

The woman in punk-rocker styling spun around, her hands up and her tone placating. “I’m just a small clinic doctor.” Takemi paused to look him over as Akira stepped into the cone of light with her. Morgana popped out of the bag to look over his shoulder. “That cat… you’re that boy from Leblanc.”

Akira slipped his right hand from his pocket to give a tiny, mocking wave. “Luce. Turner Luce. What the hell are you doing selling drugs in a dark alley in Shibuya, doc?”

Takemi deflated. “Dammit.” She looked him in the eye, a note of pleading in her face even if her tone sounded more like a command, “Look, when I said I’m a small clinic doctor—”

Akira waved her off. “This isn’t a shakedown.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall in mimicry of how she stood before he revealed his presence. “But I’m sure we can come to some… mutually equitable arrangement. First I want to know why you’re out here involved in that little… exchange.”

Her eyes narrowed and he could swear he saw the gears whirling behind her eyes for several seconds before she let out a long breath, shoulders slumping. Takemi more collapsed than leaned against the brick wall. “I had a… period of disagreement with a few suppliers. I didn’t want to shut down my clinic so soon after opening it, not with all I have to do, so… I went to the wrong people for help staying open. I just wanted to finish researching a treatment for my old patient, Miwa-chan.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath in, then out. “Now even though I _could_ get everything from legitimate suppliers, if I stop doing business with those thugs, I’m a dead woman.”

Akira scanned her, seeing no sign of deception. “I… might occasionally need medical care I can’t have reported to the police.”

The doctor stood up and opened her eyes, glancing from Akira to the night-darkened alley. “You in trouble with these bozos?”

Akira swallowed, but maintained his outward cool. “I’m kind of involved with another… issue right now.”

Takemi narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing him for several moments, then shrugged. “Fair enough. At least I shouldn’t have to worry about that moron for another four or five weeks.” She turned and walked out to central street at a brisk pace.

Morgana purred. “Talk about a fruitful day. New weapons _and_ a doctor who owes you.”

Akira watched Takemi disappear into crowd. “Let’s not count our chickens before they hatch.”

Friday, 15 April 2016  
Evening  
Yongen, Leblanc

The bell let out a merry jingle that grated on Akira’s tired nerves as he walked into the cafe, the smell of fresh-brewed coffee stirring up his stomach. A young adult, probably a little older than himself, sat at the nearest tall chair at the bar. A tan, pressed jacket from some school or college hung on the back, its neatness contrasting with the young man’s thick mop of brown hair Akira could swear had a hint of red in it.

Looking up from his legal pad, the customer flashed a wide show smile. “Oh, don’t mind me. I’m just here to enjoy the finest coffee in Tokyo.” He glanced at Akira’s tired eyes. “Are you a regular?”

“You could say that,” Akira said as he paced down the bar.

The customer lifted his cup. “You should count yourself fortunate. I fell asleep on the train and got off at the wrong stop. Now I need to make my way back to Shibuya, but I thought why not take a moment to grab a cup and get a little work done?” He tilted the cup back, paused for a disappointed moment, then looked into it and sighed before putting it back down on the saucer. “Alas, I think I have drunk my excuse out.” Reaching into his pocket, he drew a student debit card and held it out. “Thank you very much, Master Sakura.”

Sojiro swiped the card over the chip reader and handed it back. “Any time.”

The young man packed his papers in a metal briefcase, shrugged on his uniform jacket, then departed.

Sojiro pressed his hands against his lower back and stretched backwards. “Well, it’s time I get home and start making dinner.”

“I’ll finish off the dishes,” Akira said, slipping his bag off his shoulder. The thought that he wasn’t being paid for his labor passed through his mind and he cringed, remembering how much he paid for the model gun. “And I need to get a job somewhere. I should stop by the boards down in the Shibuya underground.”

Sojiro closed out the cash register and doffed his apron. “Well, look at you, acting like a responsible member of society.” He gave an easy smirk as Akira carried the dishes to the sink, walked out and locked the door.

Akira set his bag on the nearest bar chair, then got to work on what ended up being almost thirty cups. After a minute of silence from Morgana just watching, Akira looked down at him. “Do you think I’m not responsible?”

Morgana tilted his head, ears turning askew. “Why would you think that?”

Akira sighed. “Japan may not be the Near East of the Old Testament, but one thing that’s the same in both is that you don’t tell someone to be brave or strong if they’re already brave and strong. I know I’ll always be an outcast, but… life is like a democracy.” Finishing the dishes, he rinsed and pulled a handful of paper towels to dry his hands. “If everyone in my life says I’m trouble, isn’t it insanity to try to say I’m the only right one when _everyone_ else around me is wrong?”

Morgana stood up. “The fact that an answer is popular doesn’t mean it must be right. Isn’t everyone at Shujin turning a blind eye to Kamoshida? Aren’t you the only one leading the way into his Palace to keep him from hurting anyone else?”

Akira’s lips turned into a snarl as he snatched his bag and walked up the stairs. “I will _bury_ him for what he did to Shiho.”


	11. April 16th, Friendly Fire Isn't

Persona 5: Daywatch

Saturday, 16 April 2016  
Lunchtime  
Shujin, Class 2-D

With the space open, Akira set his cardboard-boxed lunch on her desk, turned the chair ahead of Ann around, then plopped into it. Sparing a wary moment to be sure nobody was nearby to overhear, he whispered, “Ryuji’s got your gear. You sure you’re ready?”

Nodding, Ann swallowed a soggy dumpling. “The hospital said they’re not allowing anyone but family to visit Shiho yet.”

Akira stared at his okonomiyaki, trying to keep the gloom out of his voice. “I’ll keep praying for her.” He took his chopsticks and stabbed the first piece of the sliced, pan-fried savory in his box. “In the meantime, we put that mental Kamoshida six feet under.”

Ann ate in silence for several long seconds. While she didn’t look away, she also wouldn’t meet Akira’s eyes. After swallowing and still looking conflicted, she said, “Well, thanks for praying for Shiho, anyway. We meeting at the alley again?”

Akira shook his head. “We’ll meet Ryuji up on the rooftop. We’ve already checked that one tower and the torture dungeon, so now we have to rely on Morgana and head into the rest of the castle.”

Now Ann looked him in the eye, her gaze steady as a machine. “I’m ready. Kamoshida stole _everything_ from Shiho. Today’s his turn.”

Saturday, 16 April 2016  
After School  
Shujin, Rooftop

Coming to a stop near the potted plants, Akira opened his paper box and disentangled the pistol from the crinkled paper packaging.

Ryuji handed her a small cardboard box, watched her toss the flimsy paper lid to the ground and take out her submachine gun. He gave her a moment to look over the very realistic model of a Russian weapon before reaching into his own schoolbag for the front and back halves of his model shotgun. Ryuji set the barrel into the back half and twisted until it clicked. “So now what? We say his name, the school’s name, then castle?”

Akira smirked. “We don’t even have to do that much.” He drew his smart phone and brought up the app. “This thing has a bookmark function. I just tap it and away we go.” His thumb hit the screen and the world bled red, twisting around them. When the surroundings stabilized, they stood on a balcony looking high above Tokyo.

Morgana pulled a square rod from the sack slung over his back and hit a button on the device, causing it to snap open into a shiny crossbow. “Be careful, everyone. We’ve been caught in this castle twice so far. The alert level has definitely been raised, and if too many guards are deployed we won’t be able to get to the Treasure.”

Akira stuffed his pistol into one of the large pockets on his longcoat. “You think we should send a decoy mission somewhere?”

Morgana shook his head. “This is a cognitive reality, not a physical one. The more we’re spotted, the more likely the real Kamoshida will develop a general wariness and things will get harder no matter where we go. We also don’t know where the Treasure is. If he does have enough wherewithal to step up the guard anywhere specific, it would likely be right around there.”

Ryuji unfolded a plastic extension on the back of his shotgun, then twisted a wing nut and tested the feel of the folding stock against his shoulder. Without a word, he gave a ready nod at Akira and they set off down the spiral staircase. After navigating through the halls for a few minutes, the team stumbled into a gray knight patrolling a hallway lit by stained glass images of Kamoshida playing volleyball.

The knight oozed black from its joints and burst into a pumpkin-headed monster holding a flickering torch and something the size of a child, but with white skin interrupted by tiny brown roots like a daikon.

Akira dashed to the cover of the couch at his feet, shooting two wild shots with his pistol.

Ann sprayed her SMG one-handed, the shots all puncturing the painted wood paneling on the walls.

Ryuji slapped a palm to his mask. “Wow.” He pulled Ann behind a large bookshelf. When the Jack came floating around it to find them, the track runner popped out and blasted it in the face with his sleek, black shotgun. Its oversized head snapped back and it thumped to the ground, dissolving to black goo.

Ann looked at her gun with disgust. “Right. Well, this thing’s inaccurate.” She stood straight, calling out, “Carmen!”

As soon as her dancer-like Persona formed, she sent it against the woody Shadow trying to beat a hasty retreat.

Akira ran out of cover at the other side of the hall, firing three shots in rapid succession. One hit the Mandrake, one went wide, and the last hit Carmen in the back, sending Ann collapsing to the ground with a pained cry.

The Mandrake jumped, punching Carmen and forcing a hiss out of Ann’s grit teeth. She pulled herself back to the couch for cover with Akira. Carmen slashed the Shadow with her thorned whip, destroying the monster. After determining the rest of the hall was clear, Ann dismissed her Persona.

Ryuji trotted up to the two still crouched beside the overstuffed couch. “What the hell was that?”

Akira stood, rubbing the back his neck, eyes on the floor. “Yeah, that didn’t exactly go like the movies.” He looked to Ann. “Sorry, you okay?”

Ann reached to rub a spot on her back, face scrunching in pain from the motion. “I don’t think I’m bleeding, but it hurts like somebody jabbed me with one of those fireplace pokers.”

Ryuji reached out a hand at Akira, palm open and the disappointment unmistakable even through his heavy mask. Head drooping, Akira handed his pistol over. Ryuji slung his shotgun back over his shoulder on a strap tied to the weapon’s front and back. “I didn’t think I was gonna hafta go over _all_ the basics. Ain’t ya ever played video games with guns?”

Akira pointed a finger at him, feet sliding apart to the ready-for-fighting stance. “I believe I mentioned Resonance of Fate already.”

Ryuji sighed. “Okay, well the stance for my shotgun is really only useful for longarms like rifles, but I don’t have any of those and I’m not sure it would work with…” He glanced between Ann and Akira, “… your style.” Gripping the pistol, he settled into a light posture on his feet. “Here, look at this. _This_ is pretty much the stance you’re gonna want for either the pistol or submachine gun. You grip it in your right hand, and steady with your other hand down here. Some SMGs have a forward grip, but I’ll cross that bridge if we come to it. You hold it up, line the iron sights up with your target, and pull the trigger.” Ryuji handed the pistol to Ann and took her gun. “Got it?”

Ann lifted the weapon, looking down the top like Ryuji did. “Like this?”

Ryuji smiled. “Yeah, just hold your feet a little farther apart for stability. You ain’t walkin’ down a rope.”

Straightening, Ann shot him a glare. “For your information, it’s called runway walking and isn’t easy to do.” Her gaze fell. “I’ve had a couple agencies say if I was a serious model I would’ve learned to do it properly already.”

Akira chuffed. “I’d say screw them. You look comfortable when you walk, that should be good enough.”

Ryuji looked over Ann, a smile growing before he nodded. “Well, at least it looks like you got the basics.” He handed the submachine gun to Akira. “Here, when you were runnin’ it looked like you were tryin’ ta squeeze a burst. Some SMGs have a stock to brace against your shoulder, but in the meantime you’ll have to handle yours like a pistol.”

Akira swung up the gun in one hand. “Like this?”

Ryuji sighed, taking Akira’s arm with both hands to push him into a better stance. “Man, you weren’t kiddin’ when you said you never played gun games. You need to join me down at the arcade in Shibuya, as long as we don’t run into one of the pro-players like The King it’ll be good training. Here, move your right leg a little more back, then a couple centimeters to the side.”

Akira shuffled his feet, wobbling. “Why? That feels weird.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re keepin’ your feet pointed straight forward like a robot. Let the toes out to the sides.” Ryuji gestured for Akira to try again.

The transfer student swung up the gun, looking awkward but at least standing steady and looking down the sights built into the top.

“There ya go.” Ryuji smirked. “Maybe next time we’ll try not shootin’ any friends. ‘Cause friendly fire ain’t.”

***

Diving forward for the limited cover of a polished oak end table, Ann came to a stop and popped out of cover to shoot the drooping, petite form of a woman with dragonfly wings, splattering it into dissolving black-and-red goo.

Captain Kidd shot a powerful pulse of wind against the second green demon hiding inside a gold-encrusted vase, slamming it into the wall and dissolving goo.

Swaggering, Akira pointed his submachine gun at the winded Agathion teetering on the ground. Tone low, he said, “You will join us… or die!”

Agathion quivered, then exploded into black swirls that streaked through the air into Akira’s mask.

Akira dropped his gun and stumbled against the wall, falling to his back and grabbing for his face. After patting himself a few moments to be sure he still _had_ a face, he rose to his knees. “Whoa.”

Morgana stopped next to the transfer student, his blue eyes wide. “What happened?”

Ryuji crouched down and picked up Akira’s gun. “You okay, dude?”

Standing, Akira blinked, shook his head, and swayed on his feet. Ann caught him, her worry clear despite the mask covering her eyebrows. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I just feel a little disoriented. C’mon, let’s walk it off.” Refusing to succumb to the pounding headache and vertigo, he snatched his submachine gun. “We might not have time to wait.”

Following Morgana, they slipped into a huge room with vaulted ceilings but otherwise resembling the chapel just a couple blocks from Inuri High. Coming to the aisle lined with cushioned pews, Akira scoffed. “Man, this douchebag would implode if he ever had to go to Confession.” Looking over the golden statue of Kamoshida, highlighted from behind by a rosary, Akira flinched away, putting his hand up in shielding. “Oh, God, my eyes.”

Ryuji came to a stop next to Akira, shooting him a hooded glare lacking real intensity. “For real, man? Again?”

Akira straightened with a casual air. “You think I’m overdoing it?”

“Just a little.”

Ann looked up and around. “Wait a second, isn’t this the gym?”

Ryuji’s eyes widened. “Hey, yeah.” He pointed at the gaudy statue. “That would totally explain that. He must think he’s some kinda god there.”

Something armored slammed down ahead of the polished statue, then stood with ponderous motions. Covered in chain mail, steel plates, and ivory edging, the archangel glared out from its open-faced helm. “The ape is correct. This sacred place is a holy ground for the almighty—”

Several bullets pinged off its breastplate and Akira looked up from his gun. “I’ll give you cred for at least gettin’ the look and entrance close to an angel, but you’re still a fake piece of shit.” Aiming down the submachine gun, he pulled the trigger. Bullets pinged over its torso, only drawing a flinch.

The others summoned their Personas, but after a single burst from each of their elements it still stood tall.

The over-muscled Persona Zorro reached out, its blue aura flaring. Blue glinted over the archangel for a moment, but the whispy traces vanished as soon as they appeared. Morgana readied his crossbow. “It’s too strong for mine to throw!”

Akira snarled, “Persona, destroy the imposter!”

Blue flared above him, a gold-plated vase taking shape. The green demon cowering inside waggled its hands and a bolt of lightning dropped down from the dark ceiling into the archangel.

Lightning coursed through it, making the winged Shadow double over with halting, twitchy motions.

Morgana stared. “Holy… Did you just call out the Persona that flew into your mask?”

Akira dove for the pew on the opposite side of the aisle as Ann and Ryuji advanced. “Uh… why? Can’t everyone do this?”

“No!” Morgana shouted over the thunder of Ryuji’s shotgun.

Ann shrieked, Archangel’s sword cleaving through the pew she took cover behind. “Priorities, everyone!”

“Right!” Morgana craned his neck and Zorro twirled its enormous rapier. Blue wrapped around the blade and fragments of the pew, hurling them at the false archangel.

The first slammed into the armored Shadow, but it swung its sword and shattered the second piece.

Captain Kidd shot a stream of howling wind at the archangel. It tucked in its wings, braced its stance, and thrust its sword despite the meters of space between them. A giant mote of golden light swirled into being in front of Kidd and slammed into the privateer.

Ryuji fell backwards with a groan of pain.

Carmen slipped in behind, lashing its thorny whip around the towering Shadow’s neck as it fluttered back up.

Archangel jerked in a half-turn and slashed its sword into the feminine Persona’s torso, which dispelled its whip.

Ann collapsed to the ground with a shriek, clutching her chest and curling into the fetal position.

“Agathion!” Akira shouted, shooting another aimed burst that pinged off the angel’s armored torso. The demon in a vase bobbed higher in the air, fingers wiggling and another lightning lancing down into the Shadow.

Archangel crashed to the floor but managed to stay on its feet despite its twitching. Glaring, it jumped through the air and swung its sword, knocking Agathion flying into the far wall.

Akira crumpled to the floor, clutching his chest as tears gathered at the corners of his eyes.

Zorro hurled fragments of the pews at Archangel, the first meeting its sword but the rest smashing against its plating and chain-mail.

Captain Kidd held his canon-arm aloft and the winds in the gym-chapel picked up, blowing small pew-fragments back into Archangel. Its feet slid over the carpeted floor, but nothing else happened.

An ice ball slammed into Archangel’s chest, encrusting the sword-arm against its plated chest.

Agathion hurled itself into Archangel, bouncing off.

Ice cracked and the fake angel growled.

Zorro flew in close, stabbing his ethereal rapier into the chinks of the false angel’s armor once, then twice.

Ice shattered and the towering Shadow slashed Zorro, knocking him flying into the far wall. Morgana tumbled to the ground, crying out.

Kidd flew over the ground as if surfing an invisible wave, slashing his oversized cutlass.

Archangel parried the blade, looping its sword around to slash back. Kidd’s smooth ‘surfing’ faltered, but it lashed back out and cut across the false angel’s back.

Agathion summoned another bolt of lightning into Archangel, knocking it down to the ground.

Captain Kidd powered a slash down, then up the false angel’s body. Black gushed from the deep cuts.

Carmen shot a bolt of ice into Archangel, and it held out its hand, flicking a ball of light into the Persona’s wispy legs. Ann stumbled to one of the room’s decorated support columns, tears of pain falling.

Zorro circled Archangel, psychokinetically hurling pew fragments into it.

Dashing by for another go around, Kidd parried a slash, counter-slashing across the false angel’s arm.

It turned and brought its blade down, growling, but Kidd blocked the blow. The straight sword pushed against the curved blade, edging Kidd further and further back.

Zorro stabbed Archangel in the back and it burst into fading black-and-red smoke.

Dismissing their Personas, everybody paused to catch their breath. After a few moments, Morgana stumbled to the broken pew Akira braced against. “Did… did your Persona _become_ that Shadow?”

Akira blinked, still struggling to breathe deep. “P… Pillar of Heaven.”

Fire and darkness tore from the ceiling into a swirling column.

Morgana’s eyes widened. “You can wield multiple Personas?”

Stumbling up to go check on Ann, Akira answered through shallow breath, “Why? Izzat bad?”

“Each person only has one heart.” Morgana folded up his crossbow and stowed it in the black bag slung across his back. “That should mean everybody only has one Persona.”

“But…” Akira paused to search through his pockets for the hot compress he brought, handing it to Ann. “We each wear different masks, behave differently to different people. Even if we didn’t, it’s not like we’re the same all through life.”

Morgana blinked, still in wonder. “Even so… I didn’t think it was possible to have more than one Persona! This will give us a _huge_ advantage.”

Akira sat against the broken remnants of a pew next to Ann. “Didn’t… seem to do much against that one.”

Shaking his head, Morgana looked over the group. “As much as I’d like to stay excited about discovering your new ability, Joker, I think we’re all spent. Let’s fall back to rest and recover.”

Akira looked up, the vague silhouettes of nude girls in the stained-glass rosette window reminding him of Shiho. He grit his teeth. “We run across _one_ speed bump and you want to run away? We’re not even close to laying down some vengeance on Kamoshida!”

Ann held the compress against her ankle, eyes still squinted in pain. “No more today.”

Ryuji stumbled, but walked closer to Akira. “Yeah, I feel like I just got beat on by a heavyweight wrestler.”

Akira slammed his fist down on the pew, causing it to crack and dump him to the carpeted floor. His chest spasmed and for a brief instant his breath fled. Looking over at Ryuji, the track runner’s breathing already looked deep and steady. “How are you?”

Ryuji grimaced, and glanced at the hot compress Ann held to her foot. “You got a cold one?”

Akira pulled out a flexible ice-pack. “It’s for keeping food cold, but this should fight any inflammation.” He looked over at Ann, who still held her teeth grit together. “Just one more room?”

Ann shook her head. “I know how you feel, Akira, but we won’t do Shiho any good burning ourselves out.”

Akira gave a reluctant nod. “I dunno how much more I can do myself, but I do know somebody who can patch us up.”

Saturday, 16 April 2016  
Evening  
Takemi Medical Clinic

An automated chime played as Akira helped Ann hop through the door, keeping her weight off her right foot.

Nobody else occupied the entry lobby, but the tired doctor yawned from her desk behind the window. She droned, “Takemi Medical… Oh!” Her eyes locked onto the two teenagers, moving from Ann to Akira. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

Akira helped Ann to the nearest chair. “It wasn’t by design, I assure you.”

Takemi opened the door to the exam room, shooting a concerned glance at the entry door. “Hurry up.”

Akira slung Ann’s arm over his shoulders again, walking her to the exam bed. Winded from the exertion, he plopped down next to her, pressing a hand over his ribs. “You… okay?”

Ann grit her teeth. “My ankle feels like it’s on fire.”

Takemi trotted to a mini-fridge in the corner. “Shoe off. Anything else?”

Ann’s hand drifted to the base of her sternum, but she stopped and her eyes flicked to Akira.”

“I’ll go,” he said.

Ignoring his walk to the front lobby, Takemi kneeled to look at the girl’s bruised ankle. “What are you kids getting into?”

The door swung closed behind him and Akira collapsed into a chair with a hiss. After a few minutes to breathe and wait for his pounding headache to subside, the inner door swung open again. Takemi stuck her head out. “No broken bones or torn ligaments. Your girlfriend’s going to be okay. Now it’s your turn.”

Akira blurted, “She’s not my girlfriend,” at the same time as Ann called from inside, “He’s not my boyfriend.”

Ann lifted an ice pack from her ankle and Akira looked down, noticing something black and bulky where her tennis shoe should be. “A foot brace? How bad was it?”

Takemi scribbled onto her little clipboard. “It’s just a tension brace.” Looking Ann in the eye, she said in a tone brooking no argument, “Make sure to keep ice on it for at _least_ thirty minutes as long as you feel that heat-pain tonight, but give it a chance to warm for at least ten minutes between. As long as you’re not running for a couple of days you should heal fully. Do you want me to call a cab for you?”

Ann cringed, fingers clutching on the ice pack. “I’d hate to think how much a cab would be. Could I just take some crutches and bring them back on Monday? I’ll be late even if I take the train, but I’d rather that than have to explain to mom and dad why I’m late _and_ need cab fare.”

Takemi looked her over. “I’d prefer you to stay off your feet as much as possible. Especially with those…” She crossed her arms. “…_stairs_ you fell down to get those injuries.” A beat passed before she turned to Akira, eyes alert and stance suspicious. “Your turn. Jacket off.” She grabbed a pair of crutches from the corner, handing them to Ann.

Akira watched his classmate settle onto them. “You going to be okay getting home?”

Holding her braced foot off the ground, she leaned right and left. “Yeah, as long as I don’t have to jump on it I’ll be fine.” She crutch-walked out and Takemi closed the door behind.

Akira hissed from unexpected pain as he took his school jacket off.

Takemi’s eyes swept over him for only a second before she continued with her clipped commands. “Shirt off.”

Akira fought off his white undershirt, and she scanned him for several seconds before retrieving a cotton ball and bottle of isopropanol. Tilting it to wet the cotton, she set the bottle on the end table next to the exam bed.

When she brushed the wet cotton ball against the first abrasion, he grit his teeth. She swiped at a second, then a third before sitting back. “Well, you’ve got pain tolerance. Are you sure you aren’t in trouble with the yakuza in Shibuya?” She brushed over a wide abrasion.

After a moment of teeth grinding, Akira clenched his fist. “Why, do they tend to leave people alive?”

She stood back, looking him in the eyes before going back to his injuries. “The biggest clan prefers to blackmail and undermine.” Her eyes drift away and she hesitated before getting a new cotton ball and wetting that one. “Though I wouldn’t doubt they’re responsible for at least a few of the bodies in Tokyo Harbor.”

Silence passed for the next several seconds as she wiped at abrasions over his ribs. Finished, she tossed the last cotton ball into the trash and capped the bottle. “These wounds aren’t from somebody trying to send you a message, are they?”

Akira looked at the hanging plastic sheet dangling from a track in the ceiling. “I’m afraid I can’t talk about it. Not yet.”

The doctor pursed her lips. “What about that bruise? Or the split lip?”

Akira smiled, feeling tension at his still-healing mouth. “I took a backhand for talking back. You should see the other guy, though.”

Takemi closed her eyes, taking a slow breath in and out. She sat down in the chair next to her computer, but he could make out the worry lines at the corners of her eyes when she turned back to him. “I know I said I’d treat you without reporting anything to the cops, but it’s a lot harder to treat injuries when I don’t know for sure what _caused_ the injuries.”

Akira closed his eyes and leaned against the wall, rejecting the idea of telling her about the Metaverse. “There may have been some… disagreements of opinion.” He scanned her eyes. “With people who had blunt objects. But I don’t abandon my friends.”

“It’s just…” Takemi ripped open a plastic pouch with a medicated bandage and stood up to apply it. “…I’ve seen injuries like yours before. These look like someone trying to send a message. No vital tissue damage, just like somebody doing his best to prolong pain. It doesn’t seem like you have any broken bones, but there’s a lot of bruising.” She pressed the bandage against the side of his ribs. Despite his attempt to stay stoic, he knew she felt his flinch. “Just try not to come here too often.”

Akira forced a smile. “And deprive you of this boyish face and these rugged good looks?”

Takemi rolled her eyes, ripping off her gloves and tossing them with the packaging into a little garbage can. She sat back at her desk and scribbled on her clipboard’s top sheet for a few moments. “Well, between you and her that comes out to…”

When she handed him the clipboard, he expected some minor amount he could pay in cash. His eyes widened at the number circled at the bottom. “What? I don’t have that much!”

She took back her clipboard, the corners of her mouth quirking up. “Well, I’m sure we can come to some… mutually equitable arrangement.”


	12. April 17th, Glimpse

Persona 5: Daywatch

Sunday, 17 April 2016  
Early Morning  
Yongen, Leblanc

Shrugging on his dress shirt, Akira gave a wave to his companion locked in cat form. “I’ll see you when I get back, Morgana.” Buttoning down the front, he trotted down the stairs.

Sojiro looked up from a large pot of curry on the stove, smelling like a project just beginning. “I’m surprised to see you up and about so early on your day off. What’s with the dressing up?”

Akira tugged at the shirt, well aware how obvious his nervousness was. “It’s my first time attending Mass at Kanda Catholic Church. I want to try to make a decent first impression when I first meet Father Sugiyama.” He slipped his hands in his pockets, muttering in a bitter tone, “Since I haven’t made a good first impression anywhere else.”

Kanda Catholic Church

Akira filed into the church with the rest of the mass of humanity. The press and numbers caused his heart rate to increase, but everybody kept in neat groups and headed the same direction. The sense of order and calm about each individual member helped settle Akira’s nerves, though the uniformity of everybody’s clothes reminded him a little too much of robot drones. At least the girl in the pew ahead of him had a red omamori-style knot in her hair. The one spot of color in the day.

Mass proceeded, music and liturgy of the resurrection failing to chase away his feeling of being trapped and alone in Tokyo.

When the service ended, Akira stood to introduce himself to Father Sugiyama. Going the opposite direction of the people ahead, he bumped into the girl with the red knot in her hair. “Oops.”

She backed up and stuttered, “O-oh, no. I’m sorry.”

Mentally kicking himself for already screwing things up with people he didn’t know, he stood back against the side of his pew. “No, excuse me. You’re trying to get out. Go ahead.”

She brushed a strand of dark brown hair behind her ear and gave a nervous smile. “T-thank you.” She gave a shallow bow, said, “Good day,” and left.

Akira walked up to a man wearing the white vestments of the Easter season. He bore wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and had a head of thinning dark hair losing the battle to white. “Father Sugiyama?”

The priest turned to him with a polite, wooden smile. “Good day, Son. Did you have any questions about the daily lesson?”

Akira drew an envelope from a pocket inside his dress shirt. “I’m Akira. Father Motoori said I should talk to you.”

Sugiyama took the yellow envelope. “Ah, yes, he emailed me about you. I was expecting you last week.”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Akira couldn’t maintain eye contact. “Yeah, sorry about that. There was some paperwork and my transit pass at the school.”

“Motoori told me a little about you over the phone when you had to leave.” He gestured to one of the side doors at the front of the sanctuary, then led him through it. “Terrible business. Worse, I’m sure, to have to suffer during a season of celebration.” Sugiyama opened the door and led him down staff halls. “Even with your checkered past, nobody so young deserves to have so heavy a chain cast upon him. Japan is a particularly unkind place for anybody once judged.”

Akira noted a lack of mention that the charges against him were false. He rubbed his arm, but decided worrying that Father Sugiyama might not believe him wouldn’t do any good.

The priest unlocked the door to a cramped office crammed with books. He gestured to an armless padded chair, then sat in a larger chair on the far side of the desk and opened the envelope. “So tell me, Akira-kun, how has the move been? What do you think of Tokyo?”

“I can’t believe that people _choose_ to live here. I mean, population density is high in almost every city in Japan, but every train I get on I feel like I’m running out of air. The crowds are more like an avalanche of people, always moving and pushing and nobody going in the same fucking—”

Father Sugiyama cleared his throat.

“—direction,” Akira finished, shrinking back into the seat a little.

The priest nodded in understanding. “I may have graduated to here from Sapporo, but I was born in a humble town in Kyushu, so I understand some of the crowd shock. If it helps, perhaps you could think of it like rain. We get sprinkles throughout the year, much like the people in smaller towns moving about. And when the monsoons come we have the press so heavy you can’t even feel the individual drops anymore, like the crowds outside Shibuya Station.”

Akira leaned back in the chair. “Yeah, but I can use an umbrella against either of those rains. I can’t very well hold people away with an umbrella.”

Chuckling, Father Sugiyama opened the letter, allowing a nondescript memory stick to fall to the desk. “No, I suppose not, my son.” Setting the stick to the side, Father Sugiyama began reading the letter. “What about your new school? Motoori said your previous school was not… particularly understanding and you are attending somewhere new, now.”

Akira crossed his arms and sat back against the old, cushioned chair. “Well, I _was_ kind of acting out, so they were probably glad to get rid of a troubled little miscreant. I was hoping Shujin would be different. A fresh start.”

Eyes still tracing down the letter, Father Sugiyama nodded. “The act of forgiveness is all about that release of a fresh start, even if the people cannot always themselves move. It allows the soul to move beyond the prison of past mistakes.”

After getting a sense of what Motoori told him, Akira explained the basic gist of his life under his biological father’s mistreatment and the events leading up to his expulsion to Tokyo, but he focused on the events surrounding Kamoshida, minus the castle in the Metaverse.

“I can scarce believe that a father would put his son through such experiments,” Father Sugiyama said, his brows drawn together. “I’m so sorry, my son. I’ll certainly pray for not only for you but Suzui’s recovery, and have the secretary put her on our prayer list. How have _you_ been?”

Akira clenched his hands, then opened his fingers, hands still feeling tense. “I… I feel worse than invisible, Father. Back at Inuri High I just wanted to be anything but the ‘lab freak’s kid’. Now everybody treats me like I’m contagious when I haven’t even done anything yet.” He rubbed a hand over his face, wondering if he should bring up Kamoshida.

Father Sugiyama returned to reading the letter. “You’re in a hard place, but God will not abandon you.”

Muttering under his breath, Akira said, “Maybe he should. I’m about to kill one of his creations and piss on his grave.”

“Sorry?” Father Sugiyama set the letter down on his desk.

Akira shook his head. “I should go, Father Sugiyama. Shujin may be socially unfriendly, but it’s too demanding for me to take time off.” He stood up and marched out before the priest could say anything, pulling the door shut behind. Only after he stepped outside and came to the perimeter fence did Akira let his weary despair show. Heart pounding, he leaned against the stone pillar. A scattered stream of people passed him, not one looking him in the eye.

After the stupid way he stormed away from Father Sugiyama, he couldn’t blame them.

Glancing at his hands, he saw them tremble. Clenching them into fists, he stuffed them into his pockets and pushed off the wall. “I’ll avenge Shiho. Everything will work out after that.”

Sunday, 17 April 2016  
Afternoon  
Yongen, Leblanc

Akira strode in, bell jingling. An elderly couple nursed their coffees at a booth table halfway into the small cafe. Unsure what to do next, he glanced to Sojiro.

The middle-aged man flicked his eyes to the hallway with stairs up to his room.

Speed-walking up, Akira spotted Morgana fiddling with something at the workbench. Hearing his approach, the guide-in-cat-body sat on the corner of the desk, tail curling around his feet. “You’re back. How was Mass?”

Unbuttoning his shirt, Akira changed into street garb and hung up his dress clothes in a zip-up garment bag. The act of taking off the dress shirt sent painful twinges through his strained shoulder muscles. “Father Sugiyama had some things to go over from Father Motoori.” He froze, then cursed under his breath. “I didn’t go to Confession.”

The tip of Morgana’s tail twitched. “Are they like those fathers you talked about the other day?”

“No.” Moving to the table set up in front of the couch, he pulled a couple school books out. “Well, actually yes. It’s different, though. A Father in the Catholic Church is more like a rank, he’s someone who watches over the parish like God watches over the Church. The title is supposed to evoke those responsibilities I talked about.”

Morgana hopped up on the table, stepping on one of the books. “I think we should go out. You’ll need a job if we’re going to buy more supplies or scope out the lay of the land.”

“I’ve been picking up a thing or two about general treatment.” Akira pulled out his mechanical pencil and opened his geography textbook. “Musculoskeletal structure isn’t all I’m studying.”

Morgana shot Akira a hooded gaze. “An ice pack and hot compress isn’t a treatment for everything. You’re no doctor.”

Akira returned the glare, his own gaze narrow. “I’d prefer to keep things in-house. All the boys who got caught at Inuri mouthed off to the wrong people and either someone overheard or someone blabbed.”

Morgana trotted right on top of the map of Japan in the open book. “You can’t do everything yourself. From what you described about Ryuji’s awakening, you’d have _died_ if you didn’t have Lady Ann _and_ Ryuji awakening right there. And when we fought that angel in Kamoshida’s gym, you were still favoring the leg you hurt back on the day Ryuji awakened.”

Akira threw his pencil to the table. “_Fine_, I’ll look for work.”

Morgana hopped into the satchel and Akira took it, heading past the elderly couple nursing their cups and to the train station.

Sunday, 17 April 2016  
Evening  
Shibuya, Underground Walkway

Leaning against the tiled walls in Shibuya’s labyrinthine underground, Akira read through the job advertisement magazine. Little feet pressed into his shoulder as Morgana read the other side of the page. Squeaks of shoes and shouts of voices filled the space, weeping around the magazine and thrumming through Akira, but he held up the publication like a shield and forced himself to see the words instead of the untidy masses. Steadier in his focus, Morgana pointed out, “Sounds like Ore no Beko pays pretty well, but you’d have to know how to cook.”

Akira shot him a glare. “I part-timed at a yaki place back before the old bastard shipped me to Inuri.” He pulled out his phone and dialed, going silent for a while, a frown growing as he listened. “I don’t believe I can do that yet.”

He paused, listening.

“Yes, I’ll call back if my availability changes.” Akira hung up and slipped his phone back into his jacket.

Morgana tapped a paw on Akira’s shoulder. “What happened?”

Grousing, he went back to the magazine. “They only need people late in the evenings. With all the grief Sakura’s been giving me, I don’t think he’d okay a job at night, even if it is only one short train ride out.”

Morgana waved his paw at another ad. “There’s a flower shop.”

“Do I look like a florist friar? No.” He went back to reading through local listings for several pages, fingers digging into the cheap publication as the masses streamed around him. “Oh, hey, that convenience store up on street level is hiring.”

He called and Morgana listened through the droning introductions.

“I’m a high school student,” Akira said, heading into a conversation about availability. “Great, as soon as my current cram school finishes I’ll look forward to coming in.”

Morgana raised an eyebrow. “Cram school?”

Akira shrugs, then ducks his head back when the motion destabilizes Morgana. “I can’t very well tell them about Kamoshida, can I? I should have plenty of time soon as he’s taken care of. Might as well check out the place.”

Sunday, 17 April 2016  
Evening  
Yongen, Leblanc Loft

Akira set the finished sheet of trigonometry aside, then yawned into his fist. His phone buzzed and Morgana sat up from his curl on the corner of the bed. Reaching for it, Akira opened the chat app.

Ann wrote, [Shiho's finally stable!]

Akira’s breath caught in his throat and he stood, then paced the room, homework forgotten. [She's out of intensive care? How is she?]

[Her mother texted me and I went to see her at the hospital today. Shiho's under observation and the doctors don't know if she'll regain consciousness.]

[When. When she'll regain consciousness.] Akira paused, looking to the small picture of Mary on her knees, looking down at Jesus. [I'll make sure to pray for her.]

Several seconds passed and he wondered if he said the wrong thing before three dots appeared. [Thank you. She's… strong. She's got to get better. As long as we believe in her, she can do it.]

Akira’s stomach flipped like a gymnast on a coffee high. His throat tensed and for a moment he was glad Ann contacted him through a text messenger instead of phone call where his voice would have cracked. [Do you think I would be able to visit sometime this week? I feel like I need to apologize.]

[You? What for?]

Akira sat down on the corner of the bed and Morgana wasted no time in sitting down next to him to pry on the conversation. [I don't have the excuse of being caught up in whirlwind Kamoshida. I saw everything that was going on and didn't push because I was too concerned with my own probation.]

[Akira, there's no way you could have known what was going on. You were new. All of us were burying our heads. But no more. Kamoshida will pay for what he did.]

Feeling a kinship with her passion and anger, somehow his stomach settled down and Akira put away the phone. Then he knelt in front of the image of Mary, made the sign of the cross, and folded his hands together.

Morgana watched from the bed. “She is such a kind girl. Caring about her friends, the innocence to charge into the jaws of death to achieve her goal, and beautiful.”

Akira snorted, unable to hide the smirk on his face. “_Somebody’s_ smitten.”

Smirking, Morgana took a few steps closer. “Women make the most amazing phantom thieves.” With a relaxed smile, he flopped to his side on the bed. “They can steal a heart like no other.”

A bitter taste rose in his throat, his jaw clenching and lips twisting down. “Yeah. Whatever.”

Morgana curled up into a seated posture. “Just you wait. One day you’ll meet a girl who only has to smile and you’ll feel like you’re basking in a warm summer day.”

Akira rolled his eyes.


	13. April 18th, Book of Memory

Persona 5: Daywatch

Monday, 18 April 2016  
After School  
Shujin, Rooftop

Akira glanced at the flowers and tomato plants, little green bulbs just visible under some stems. With no sign of anybody else up on the roof, he returned his focus to the team. “Everybody ready?”

Morgana jumped up to one of the disused desks, giving a meaningful glance at Ann before facing Akira. “Are you sure everyone’s had enough time to recover from the battle against that angel on Saturday?”

“We don’t have time to lollygag around.” Akira fought down a snarl. “Every day we leave Kamoshida be is a day he could be putting another person into a coma.”

Ryuji wavered on his feet, unable to meet Akira’s eyes. “I get you, dude, but the Shadows are gettin’ kinda strong. What happens if we run into somethin’ else like that angel in the gym?”

Akira slipped his hands into his pockets. “Oh, don’t worry too much about that. I found a doctor in real life that can do some patching up if we get into a real scrap.”

Ann looked up from the email on her phone, her stance tense. “Any idea where the Treasure is, Morgana?”

“No, but we were getting closer last time. There’s just too much we can’t know until we go in.”

Akira stared down their companion-in-cat-form. “But once we find the treasure, the Shadow will be vulnerable and we can strike Kamoshida directly?”

Morgana squinted, as if unwilling to answer for a moment. “If we get into a direct confrontation with him, yes. But if we’re not careful, we could end up causing him to go berserk.”

Ann crossed her arms. “Don’t worry. Revenge is a dish best served cold.”

Kamoshida’s Castle

Opening the ivory-edged door with a quiet click, Akira kept low as Morgana hopped off his back. Raising his sub-machine gun, he pushed the door open, holding onto the gold-filigreed handle to keep it from banging. Ryuji ran in with his shotgun up, sweeping left as Ann strolled in sweeping the center. Akira took to the right and they spread out through the one-room but still opulent library.

Ann’s lips curled in disgust at the gold statuette of a nude girl holding up a stack of books on the shelf. “I’m surprised a pig-headed pervert like Kamoshida would have a library in his Palace.”

Ryuji leaned in at one shelf. “Running Times of the Great Kamoshida. Magnificent Hair Care.” He stepped away with a tisk.

Morgana kept his crossbow in hand, if retracted in its square-rod state. “I thought the Treasure was in this direction, but it looks like nothing’s here.”

Akira made a slow revolution, taking in huge library room for second time. Shelves lined the walls, the dark wood polished and all manner of colors and sizes of books arrayed on the walls.

Ann lowered her machine gun and read one of the book spines. “The Delicate Kiriko.” She spat. “All of these are probably his sick fantasies.” Stepping away, she stopped and noticed her staunch compatriot still scanning the large space. “What’s up, Joker?”

“Something’s wrong. Don’t you guys see it?” Akira paced a small circle around the reading table in the middle of the room, eyes out on the walls and shelves.

Ryuji took his shotgun in both hands. “A lotta creepy books?”

Akira clenched his hand over his sub-machine gun, then lowered the weapon to his side. “No, not the books, something else is… _wrong_ here.”

Ann bared her teeth in a silent snarl. “The bookends are all naked girls.”

Akira stopped, then closed on one of the support pillars separating the bookshelves. “No, it’s this.” He reached out for the candle in a gold holder jutting out of the pillar. “It’s not straight. Honestly, am I the only one in the world who likes things straight and tidy?” He pulled it out to check the bottom when a click sounded. Wood scraped on stone as a bookshelf at the far end of the short wall spun around.

Morgana dove for cover under the table, crossbow snapping to the ready.

Ryuji gave a shallow nod. “Whoa! Good eye, Joker.” He pointed his shotgun and the group looked at a heavy wood panel where the bookshelf was.

Akira lowered the candle back. A click echoed out of the wall and the bookshelf spun again.

Ann held up her pistol. “I’m not the only one who saw something behind it, right?”

Morgana hopped up on the reading table. “I saw it too, Panther.”

Ryuji boggled. “Wha… you wanna go _in_ there?”

Akira held his sub-machine gun up against his chest, finger out of the trigger well. “C’mon, Byakko. You can tell me if we’re any closer to the Treasure in there. Panther? Keep watch with Reaper.”

Morgana steadied his crossbow and swallowed. “Right.” He followed Akira to the spinning bookshelf.

Ryuji lifted the candle out of the holder. The bookshelf spun, taking Akira and Morgana with it.

A small, stone-walled room lacking the fine plaster, polished wood paneling, or ivory filigree greeted them. A huge, wood desk dominated the small room beyond the circular scrape marks. Sitting on it rested a huge tome, less a proper book than loose papers sewn into a heavy wood cover. Walking around desk, Akira reached for book and pulled it open.

***

Holding his hand over heart as Japan’s national anthem finished, a heavy medal weighed down on his front. Despite its significant pull, he felt a million meters tall.

***

Suguru tromped into the bustling bar and plopped onto one of the circular stools.

The bartender came to a stop in front of him with a towel slung over one shoulder. “You look like hell, Suguru-kun.”

**You deserve every recognition, every reward.**

“Just leave the bottle this time.”

“You’re not usually a drinking man.” The bartender set a bamboo cup and medium-size rice wine bottle on the counter in front of him. “What happened?”

**Your subjects betrayed you.**

Suguru threw back the whole cup, a burning heat sliding down his throat. “I won them a gold medal, and they kicked me to the curb.” He tilted the bottle to refill his cup. “Do they think I’m just some hack who got lucky? If _my_ talent’s not carrying the day, what’s the point?”

He threw back another cup.

***

Suguru looked down at the dangerously overweight man in mustard-yellow suit across desk.

Kobayakawa closed the file.

A pinch tightened inside Suguru’s chest.

Kobayakawa looked up at him. “Kamoshida-san, I can’t believe that somebody with such a stupendous record would apply to coach at Shujin Academy.”

Suguru straightened, his breath hitching. “You… you mean…?”

**It is only what you deserve. Does a king not deserve a kingdom?**

Kobayakawa smiled. “Kamoshida, just the news of you joining our school would boost our ranking. If you could get a team to regionals… Well, we’ll have donors lining up for the chance to contribute to the school.”

Suguru scrambled to his feet, bumping his seat back in haste. “Kobayakawa-san, I promise you I won’t stop at regionals. I will bring us all the way to nationals and put the golden trophy in _your_ hands.” He gave a deep bow.

**Here you can reap your reward.**

Phone ringing, Kobayakawa pulled it out and took a quarter turn away. “I look forward to it.” Answering the line, his pudgy face smiled even more. “Yes, Shido-san. I’ve just secured an asset that will make your contribution to this school _very_ lucrative.”

***

Suguru slid the door open to Shujin’s PE faculty office. Trotting to his chair, a knock pounded on the door before he can even plop into his seat. Sighing, he turned around. Kamoshida’s voice came out of his mouth, “Enter.”

The door slid open and a toned girl with wavy black hair stepped in, then closed the door behind her. Her skin glistened with sweat, giving her an ethereal glow, her bust straining under the volleyball uniform as she breathed from her run to the office. Whirling around on him, she shouted, “I’m on the bench? I was the team captain of a champion team at Green Ceder!”

**At last, a fitting offering for a king.**

Suguru sighed. “Himiko-chan, there are a _lot_ of very talented players this year.”

She took an aggressive step closer, chest still moving in and out. “But _I_ am supposed to be the best!” She crossed her arms under her developing breasts. “I work twice as hard as all of them.”

“Team size is fixed, Himiko-chan.”

Himiko fell to her knees, a little theatrical but a definite fire in her eyes. “Please, Kamoshida-sensei. I _have_ to be the starter. I’m good enough… I’ll do _anything_.”

**See how they all want from you? It is only right to claim tribute back.**

Suguru swallowed, feeling his member stir in his pants. “There’s a lot that defines a volleyball player. Her strength, her constitution, her skill…” His eyes roved over her curves. “Her… dedication.” He put a hand on her shoulders, hooking his thumb inside her shirt collar.

A momentary shudder passed through her before she breathed in, then out, and looked up at him.

Suguru smiled. “If you’re willing to give enough, you can get _anything_.”

She stood, and after he pulled she reached down and helped him remove her white gym top. Her lacy black bra jutted out, the skin all over glistening with sweat. Suguru pulled down her shorts even as her eyes clamped closed.

***

Akira surged back away from the tome, stumbling into the wall and slipping to the ground. He curled onto his side and dry-heaved.

Morgana rounded the desk, crossbow in hands and eyes wide in worry. “Whoa, Joker! What happened?”

Akira twisted onto all fours, focusing just on breathing for a while until the need to vomit was no longer all-consuming. His heart raced, and he felt defiled. As dirty as if _his_ hands pulled that glistening girl’s clothes off. “He… Kamoshida really _does_ think all girls want to be with him.”

Morgana lifted the crossbow to rest on his shoulder, the long bayonet jutting out the front and glistening in the dim candle light. “Joker, what are you talking about?”

Akira swiped for his sub-machine gun, stumbled up to his feet, and pointed a hand at the book. “That sick bastard thinks everything he wants is his for the taking.” He lifted his sub-machine gun, but between the defiled feeling and wispy air getting into his lungs couldn’t scrape together enough energy. “But… it’s like something was talking to him, pushing him to that idea.”

Morgana looked around, pulling at one of the drawers in the desk only to give up when the whole desk shuddered under his yank. “Well, I don’t know what this room is for, but I don’t see anything useful and that,” his eyes stopped on the tome, “sure isn’t his Treasure.”

Keeping a maximum distance from tome, Akira moved around room to the bookshelf. “I don’t see a switch or anything here. How do we get out?”

“I think they need to trigger it from out there.”

Akira clawed at the books, throwing them from the shelf, then banged on the backboard. “Reaper! Panther! Listen to me very carefully. Put the candle back!”

Tuesday, 19 April 2016  
After School  
Shujin Library

When the door slid open to dense shelves of books instead of a student worker, Akira knew he opened the wrong door. Hoping that wasn’t a bad omen, he kept his back straight and posture calm like he meant to do that and walked in. A set of round desks sat beyond the bookshelves, some students reading manga and more reading textbooks for class. Rows of small study cubicles lined the back wall.

Despite the short walk, by the time he reached the desk of the student librarian, he could already hear murmuring behind him. The many that glanced up kept an eye on him, but most remained quiet as he came to a stop in front of the brown-haired girl at the desk. She clasped her hands and looked up at him, eyes flicking over his uniform. “Oh, a second-year badge. You’re the transfer student?”

“Akira,” he said with a swift, shallow bow, sidestepping the question.

It wasn’t enough to placate the students at the reading desks, many of them breaking into hushed conversations and shooting suspicious glances at him. Was Shujin really that hard-up for gossip that he somehow became a celebrity just by transferring in?

The student librarian glanced left and right, taking in the others at work. “I don’t mean to be rude, but it might be better if you weren’t here.”

Akira’s easy pose straightened, gaze hardening. “How is that _not_ supposed to be rude?” Despite himself, his teeth ground and his voice rose as he continued, “This is supposed to be a place of learning open to _all_ students, and _I’d_ like to study.”

A red-eyed girl with a braided hairband stood from one of the reading tables and walked over. She looked either annoyed or nervous, but kept a closer guard on her expression than most students. “Is everything all right?”

The librarian bowed in her seat. “Oh, pardon the disturbance, Miss President.”

Akira slapped the piece of scratch paper in his right hand to the desk, flipping it when he realized his handwriting wasn’t facing up. “I need this book, the online catalog indicated you have it.”

The student worker took it and read, “Muscles and the Skeleton, Fourth Edition.” She stood, eyes flicking to the taller brown-haired girl before she stood and beat a hasty retreat out to the shelves.

The girl in the sweater vest held a confident, even imposing stand against him. “I am the Student Council President. The library _is_ a place of learning but it is a place of _quiet_ learning. I don’t mind if you’re here to study, but please keep your voice down.”

Akira tightened his already curled left fist, waiting without a single word back to the student council president. Leave some hoity-toity official to get on his case when all he wanted was to study.

The librarian returned with the book, took Akira’s ID, scanned them, then handed him the book as if she feared he might tear her arm off. Akira sat down far away from everybody in one of the study cubicles and started reading. Minutes passed and the murmured conversations continued. When his phone went off, he gave up on the lumbar vertebrae and brought up the blinking chat function.

Ryuji’s ID stared up at him. [Yo! Where you at?]

Closing his book, Akira focused on chat. [Trying to study in the library. I’d think you’d be here, too.]

[Dude, my grades aren’t that bad. Besides, I realized something when we were running around the Palace. I feel like I’m way behind where I was back in track. We’re running into tougher Shadows, so we should probably train.]

Akira blinked, trying to decide if Ryuji was that far ahead of the lesson plan or that determined to catch up with him and Ann. [Weather says chance of rain tomorrow. You have something in mind today?]

[Quick warm-ups behind the gym. Be sure to change into your gym clothes first.]

Tuesday, 19 April 2016  
After School  
Shujin, Practice Field

Back in the same uniform he wore when first discovering the castle of horrors with Ann, Akira walked onto the general-purpose field. When he heard Ryuji’s heavy, certain footsteps he said, “You know, I’m starting to think the same construction and landscaping company does every school sport field in Japan. The one at Inuri High looked the same.”

“Yo,” Ryuji said in response. He came to a stop next to Akira, hands on his hips, eyes sweeping over the grass field with his chest puffed out. “Lotta memories here.”

Akira tried not to think about the basketball fight. “The track team have a lot of good days here?”

“Yeah.” Ryuji kicked the grass, his shoulders drooping a little. “We’d gather here before hitting a track, and just become one with the wind.” He looked up at Akira. “You seemed pretty good on stamina back there. You sure you didn’t play anything?”

Akira snorted. “As if anybody’d have me on their team.”

Ryuji shoved his hands into his pockets. “Well, anyway, that was actually what got me thinkin’. When we were fightin’ in that other world, I felt slow and clumsy.”

Akira gave an easy shrug, though a smirk slipped through. “Well, maybe you just are.”

Ryuji jerked his hand out, thwacking Akira on the arm.

“Ow.” Akira rubbed the impact.

“Anyway, I thought I needed to build back up again.” Ryuji said, stepping out into the field before looking back with a grin, “Can’t sit back with this flimsy body, right?”

Akira held his hand over the last punch site. “You’re seriously going to leave me an open door like that? You make it too easy.”

Ryuji closed in and elbowed him with a grin of his own. “Hey, maybe it’ll help you, too. I seem to remember beating you back on the walkway in Inokashira Park.”

Akira adjusted his glasses until he cast a glint on Ryuji. “Heh. You may find I’m not some sloppy amateur struggling to catch up to you.”

Ryuji shot back his own grin. “An’ I ain’t some old man past his glory. You know what knee lift sprints are?”

Akira tilted his head.

“Well, I know you know regular ones. Let’s take ten laps, an’ I’ll do the knee lifts.”

Both charge around the field, both trying to out-do the other until they both come back to the grassy field closer to the buildings. Ryuji came to a stop, gasping and bracing his hands on his knees.

Akira flopped onto his back on the grass, spreading his limbs out as he heaved in breaths. “Man, you don’t… know when to… stop. You must’ve… been a speed demon before Kamoshida.”

Ryuji stood straight, clasping his hands on top of his head to expand his chest. “We _were_ the big thing here at Shujin before Kamoshida disbanded us. Well, besides the scholarships for good grades and letters of recommendation. He was on our case as soon as he got here. He gave crazy workouts, then just piled more on.”

Several moments passed as both did nothing but breathe. Ryuji plopped down next to Akira, crossing his legs and staring out at the setting sun. “He gunned after me. Prolly knew I’d snap sooner.” He lowered his arms to his knees. “I guess… I was always the kinda guy who didn’t really know when to hold back.”

“You’re not alone there.” Akira pushed himself to a sitting posture. “You did pretty good back when I stormed in Kamoshida’s office. I wasn’t thinkin’ at all. All I could see was Suzui’s twisted body.” He clenched his fists, remembering her perfect smile. Her graceful gait. Her luxurious, black-as-midnight hair in a practical ponytail. The rose-scented chapstick that drew his eyes to lips that smiled so easily. Her joyous laugh, the way it made her eyes sparkle. And the empty stare as she lay broken on the courtyard. “Whether I succeeded or failed, the cops’d have stuffed me in a hole so deep I’d never have seen the light of day again.”

“Yeah, that was a weird day.” Ryuji ran a hand through his hair. “You were so much like me I didn’ know what _I_ was s’posed to do. It was like you were really gonna _kill_ him.”

After a while of staring out at the skyline of the city, Akira looked back to Ryuji. “So what’d he end up doing? I know he screwed your team, but it sounds like you have a personal beef with him.”

Ryuji rolled a twig between his fingers. “He brought up my parents.”

Akira let out a sharp breath. “I’da slugged him too.”

Ryuji looked Akira up and down. “What’d your old man do?”

Akira clenched his hands into tight fists, focusing on drawing in breath and letting it out through his grit teeth. After feeling his heartbeat slow back down from the flash-urge to kill, he spoke. “It’d be a shorter list to say what my old bastard did _right_. He was always more concerned with his research than me or my mother. For a long time, he did memory training when he wasn’t with others. He’d strap me in a chair, jam electrodes in my scalp, and shock me any time I answered a question wrong.”

Ryuji stared at him for a while. Then, eyes narrowing, he crossed his arms. “Are you for real?”

Akira shot him a flat stare. “Why would I lie about the bastard?”

“Wow,” Ryuji said, scratching his head. “That’s just… messed _up_. I mean, _my_ pops… well, you know.” He mimed tipping a bottle at his lips. “He’d be at work sometimes all week, and always promise to bring home somethin’ nice to say sorry, but he’d almost always get home sloshed. Sometimes he’d pass out on the recliner, but sometimes he’d get all mad at somethin’ I did, and hit me.” The runner’s hands clenched and teeth ground. “Or Ma.” Ryuji blinked, then shook his head and looked at the transfer student. “But he never electrocuted me. Kinda makes us losin’ our shot at the championship seem like small potatoes.”

“Why?” Akira held up a twig and pulled off a strip of bark. “I’m just one person, your championship was a lot of people. A lot of opportunities, you’ll never know what could’ve been.”

“Yeah,” Ryuji said, looking out at the skyline. “But lookin’ back, I don’t think he’d’a ever let us get in a win. Kamoshida. He always came at me twice as hard. Finally told the whole team about my drunk of a father.” He clasped his hands on his head again. “In front’a everyone. I lost it, kinda like you did.” Ryuji sat on his heels and ran his hand over the tended grass.

He hurled the twig into the wind. “You wish you could go back?”

Ryuji stood up. “To track? Nah. The other guys treat me like a traitor, and it’s not like they’re wrong.”

Akira scoffed, and stood up next to him. “If they were just putting up with Kamoshida’s abuse, _they_ were the traitors.” He let a breath pass. “_You_ were the only one with the guts to stand up to Kamoshida, just as you were. That takes balls of steel, dude.”

Ryuji smiled and nudged him an elbow. “Well, if you’re gonna steal pages from my book, I might as well do the same. Who cares what happened before? That’s the past, we got the future.” He brought up his hand to high-five Akira, who barely responded in time to avoid a slap in the face.


	14. April 20th, Treasury

Persona 5: Daywatch

Wednesday, 20 April 2016  
After School  
Kamoshida’s Castle

Slinking through the narrow, open space, Akira led the others down to a balcony over an audience hall. A padded throne glistened with gold at the end.

Ryuji dusted his hands. “Easy peasy.”

“Shh!” Morgana crept to the balcony, followed by the others on their bellies. Kamoshida sat on an ornate gold throne before a thick formation of gray knights.

Akira crept back a little, a snarl on his face. He whispered to the others, “Shit. We can’t take him down now. There’s too many soldiers, even for all of us together.”

Morgana looked at him through a hooded gaze. “Don’t forget that our goal is the Treasure, not his Shadow. It’s the Treasure that’s chaining his Shadow. If we don’t take care of that, we’re more likely to cause a mental shutdown.”

“That’s the brain-dead thing, right?” Ryuji looked around, then gawked at the impressions in the ceiling.

Ann’s fists curled. “Then let’s keep moving.”

Slinking low along the balcony, the thieves came to an ornate, narrow door. Ryuji came to a crouch next to it, allowing Morgana to hop on his shoulder and pick the lock as Akira watched. After slipping through, closing the door behind them, they stood up and relaxed.

Ryuji stared at the pair of heavy, cedar doors beyond, wrapped in iron banding. “Damn, these doors look like they could take a battering ram.”

Akira crossed his arms. “If I was an evil castle prick, I’d hide my treasure behind something like this.” He looked down to Morgana. “You think you can get us in?”

Morgana smirked. “_Please_. Watch the master at work.” Just a couple seconds of fiddling later, the lock popped. “With a little more training, maybe one day even _you_ will be able to do that, Joker.”

“Whatever,” he said, pushing open the door to the treasury. Gold statuettes scattered over mounds of gold coins.

Ryuji’s eyes popped wide as dinner plates, a stupid grin on his face. “Holy shit! Is all this loot the treasure?” He stepped into the piles of gold, picking up a heavy candlestand in the detailed likeness of a nude girl. “Man, this freak really is a pervert.”

Akira picked up handfuls of gold oval coins, recognizing them from pictures in his history textbook on the warring states period. “For all the western styling, I’d have expected his treasures to be English pounds or something.”

Ann held up a heavy gold necklace lacking any gems to break up the yellow sheen. “For someone with such a gaudy castle, I expected him to have more… interesting jewelry at the end.”

“All of that’s just set dressing.” Morgana hopped up on a gold vase near the middle of the room, surrounded by deep piles of gold coins and trinkets. “_This_ is the Treasure.”

Akira slipped his hands into his pockets, making no effort to hide the dubious expression on his face. “That cloudy thing? Sorry, but I’m gonna have to go with Ryuji on this.”

“Don’t get ahead of me,” Morgana scolded. “Remember, this is a cognitive world, not a physical one. Just finding the Treasure,” he gestured to the shifting cloud, “is just the first step. Everybody knows they have desires, but for most people, we understand on a deep level that they’re not physical things. In order to make the treasure manifest, we need to make the person aware their desire is in fact a Treasure just the same as any physical thing that can be stolen.”

Akira blinked. “Wait, are you telling me we have to _warn_ them we’re gonna come in?”

“Yes.”

Akira waved his hands. “I’m gonna have to put a negatory on that plan. Telling people you’re gonna do something just guarantees you get caught.”

Morgana crossed his arms. “No it doesn’t. And there’s no other way to make the treasure manifest. We have to send the conscious person a calling card. The conscious person and their Shadow are connected. A change in one affects the other, and because the Treasure is connected to the Shadow that will make the Treasure vulnerable.”

Ryuji danced in glee, gold statuettes in both hands. “A calling card, it’s totally like one of those awesome heist stories!”

Akira’s lips pressed into a thin line.

Noticing Akira’s reluctance, Ann cleared her throat. “I say we give it a shot. If a calling card can make the Treasure vulnerable, it should do the same for their Shadow, right?”

Morgana’s ears drooped and he sent a despairing look to Akira. “Yes, but I have no idea what exactly it will do to the Shadow.”

The temporarily-sans-glasses-thief crossed his arms. “So we’ve done all we can here?”

Morgana nodded. “Until we send the calling card.”

Akira gave a curt nod. “Then we leave and do it. Kamoshida’s had enough of a reprieve for what he did to Suzui-san.”

Thursday, 21 April 2016  
After School  
Shujin, Rooftop

Ryuji huddled under the overhang, watching rain pour down over the school roof. “Man, it sucks tryin’ ta meet when it’s raining.”

Ignoring the complaining, Akira got straight to the topic at hand. “We’ve been maintaining pretty well as we crawled up that tower, so I think a day of rest should be plenty. I think we should take the castle tomorrow and bring Kamoshida to an end. That means we need to have the calling card ready by tomorrow.”

Ryuji backed away from a large drip splash. “Couldn’t we have sent one at the beginnin’ of all this?”

Morgana, still huddled in Akira’s bag set against the wall, shook his head. “A calling card is meant to create a sense of threat and manifestation through focus. As time passes, that mental sense of possessive fear fades and the Treasure disappears.”

Akira looked down at their metaverse expert. “How long does it last?”

“Until their cognition has time to lapse back into a sense of security, like any mental reset. Generally, that’s when they next sleep.”

Ryuji boggled, accidentally stepping back into the rain dripping down the side of the overhang. “Less than a day? That’s like no time at all!”

Akira leaned against the wall. “That’s why we all need to be ready to send it. Ann, I know you need to work, is it okay if Ryuji and I write it?”

“I’ll be here too!” Morgana chirped from the bag.

Ann shot a wary glare at Ryuji. “It better not have spelling errors in it, okay? The embarrassment would kill me.”

Akira nodded. “And we’ll have to make sure they can’t tell who wrote it. If we leave a handwritten note we might as well write ‘this is my confession’ and sign our names.”

Ryuji jumped in excitement at a sudden idea, splashing the water running along the roof. “We can just use magazine cutouts, like all those TV villains who leave anonymous letters.”

Akira snorted, but fell silent for several seconds. “That’s just archaic enough to work. You got a print center nearby?”

Ryuji tilted his head. “Why would we need that?”

“Copies,” Akira said, pulling out his phone to get started with what they would need for a good draft. “We need a lot. If the school sees just one little note, they’ll throw it out as a stupid prank. If we plaster it over the billboards, everybody will see it and they won’t be able to cover it up anymore.”

Ann gave him a predatory smile. “Smart. You’ve really thought about this.”

Morgana piped up from the bag, “We’ll only have one shot at this. If we fail now, another calling card most likely won’t have enough impact to make the Treasure manifest again.”

“Don’t worry,” Akira said, tone grim. “We’ll only need one shot to take down Kamoshida. He won’t get away with all the things he’s done. Come on, Ryuji. Let’s hit the library. I need to get some studying in, too.”

“Dude, we’re gearin’ to take down the king of assholes and you want to study?”

“They’ve got dictionaries and a couple thesauri down in the library and I want to make sure that calling card will do the job without pointing straight back at us. See you later, Ann.”

Ryuji sighed. “At least let’s go to the diner. It’ll be quieter there.”

Friday, 22 April 2016  
Morning  
Shujin’s Front Entrance

Akira trotted in the front doors, hearing the buzz of conversation deeper inside right away. The noise hammered him, a directionless cacophony making his stomach clench. Despite the discomfort, he proceeded inside to a mob at the front billboards plastered with calling cards. Clumps of students surrounded every billboard on the first floor, each one strewn with calling cards.

An excitable girl with wiry hair jogged up to the group from behind him, stopping next to Mishima near the back of the crowd. “What’s all this about?”

The class representative stood steady as a statue, his gaze hollow and fixed on the dozen cards pasted over the billboard. They reminded the transfer student of a shark’s, as if they peered into an unfathomable void. “Somebody left calling cards. They’ve been here since I got here for study early in the morning.”

Ann came to a stop next to Akira, and the two shared an acknowledging glance before Mishima read the card to the excitable girl.

“Sir Kamoshida Suguru, the pitiful sinner consumed by lust. You force your twisted desires on students that can’t fight back. You abuse the weak and dishonor the pure. Your punishment shall be visited upon you by your own hand. I, the Phantom Thief of Hearts, shall take your distorted desires without fail.”

Ann tilted her head closer to Akira and mumbled, “Ryuji wrote _that_? I can almost take it seriously.” The two walked further down the hall to Ryuji. “Sakamoto, did you _really_ write all that?”

Ryuji smirked, though as tall as she was he couldn’t look down his nose at her. “It’s like poetry, ain’t it?”

Morgana popped out of Akira’s bag, eyes narrow. “_I’m_ the one who came up with most of the phrasing. You wanted to say ‘we know how shitty you are’.”

Ann crossed her arms and shot a cold frown at Ryuji. “That sounds like a child failing to sound like an adult.” She glanced at Akira, still next to her. “But why Phantom _Thief_?”

Akira grumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets. “_They_ insisted on thieves, even though that sounds stupid.”

Ryuji and Morgana both groaned. The runner sent him a hooded gaze. “C’mon, man. Not this again.”

Morgana snapped from the interior of the transfer student’s satchel, “Gentlemen thieves are cool and stylish, we steal from the rich and give to the poor.”

Lowering his voice to keep from being overheard by the crowd focused on the calling-card-plastered billboards, Akira said, “Thieves don’t lend courage to the innocent, and hardly fear in the guilty.”

Slumping, Ryuji rolled his eyes. “It ain’t the same thing as bandits, dude. It’s takin’ on the big dogs to keep the little guys from getting’ crushed. Like privateers.”

Morgana glared at Ryuji. “We were _not_ going to be Sea Dogs.”

“Well,” Ann said, cutting off further argument, “what’s done is done.”

A frown still tugging at his face, Akira shrugged. “I figured there wasn’t a better candidate for somebody acting out the deadly sin of lust.”

Ann’s eyebrows rose and her head tilted to one side. “Deadly sin?”

Akira nodded. “It’s from a poem the Catholic Church used to use to teach to help people remember virtues and vices. You’ve got seven virtues and vices in contrasting pairs.” He lifted a hand to point to himself. “Mine is wrath. Its opposite is patience.”

Ryuji slipped his hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed. “Yeah. Those two kept wantin’ to change stuff, so we browsed tons’o stuff online for reference.”

Akira gave a wide, bright smile. “And _my_ search history is still squeaky clean.”

Ryuji’s eyes popped wide. “Oh, crap.” He pulled out his phone and opened the web navigator.

Morgana sighed. “I still wish somebody with some artistic talent could’ve done the logo.”

Akira leaned his back against the wall. “I’ll commission one of those homeless artists in Inokashira Park for something next time.” He pulled out his phone, passing it from hand to hand as he stared up and out. “Hell, there’s probably some in Shibuya.”

Ryuji kicked a sneaker against the floor, drawing a high squeak. “You know what? You want some artsy fartsy thing, go to Kosei.” He spared a glare at Akira. “At least I could make something that looked like a top hat.”

Morgana snickered from inside the bookbag.

Akira glared down at it. “Traitor.”

The excitable girl from earlier jerked back from the mob. “Does that mean those scary rumors are true?”

The majority of the student mob broke, dashing for their classrooms before Akira could see Kamoshida coming in from the front gates, looking for the source of the commotion. He seemed annoyed but collected until his eyes fell on the calling cards. The remaining students backed far away.

Akira navigated to the video app, glancing at his compatriots. “Exit stage left.” Ann and Ryuji took the courtyard doors out and Akira began the recording, setting his smartphone on the electrical box near the corner, setting his bag under it.

Kamoshida’s shoulders hunched and his hands curled into fists before he roared, “Who put these here?”

Morgana peeked out from the bag to say, “I’d say _that_ is impact positive.”

Students scattered as Kamoshida snatched for them, then spotted Akira watching with his hands in his pockets. The towering teacher stormed closer, an anger borne from fear etched across his face. “Was this you?”

Akira pushed his glasses up with his middle finger, slipping his hand back into his pocket. “Was _what_ me?” When Kamoshida took a step closer, Akira smirked but kept his posture neutral for the camera. “No, wait, let me guess. It doesn’t matter because I’ll be expelled soon anyway?”

Kamoshida’s face twisted, settling into rage as he grabbed Akira and lifted him in the air with one hand.

A momentary tremor prickled his skin, but Akira kept his eyes on Kamoshida’s. For an instant, he could’ve sworn they reflected gold light. Still, it wouldn’t take much to weasel out of an assault charge with just grabbing the jacket. Akira swallowed, narrowing his eyes. “Right, because it takes a big man to attack a student with his hands in his pockets.”

Kamoshida threw Akira into the wall and stormed away, frame vibrating with pent-up anger.

Akira crawled off the floor, feeling the impact still pulse along his arm and hip. Pushing aside the discomfort, he took his bag, smart phone, and stopped the recording.

Morgana popped his head out. “You’re way too reckless.”

“I prefer ‘daredevil with a plan’,” Akira said, sending the recording to Niko Video.


	15. April 22nd, Severed Whisper

Persona 5: Daywatch

Friday, 22 April 2016  
After School  
Kamoshida’s Castle

Akira came to a stop in the open doors of the throne room. Girl’s bust pillars spaced around the lower level, gloomy shadows underneath enhancing the quiet. Lewd at best depictions of female anatomy decorated the hall. Rose petals scattered over the floor, but no sign of the grey or gold-clad guards interrupted the unsettling silence, even at the throne on its step-style dias near the stairs up to the treasure room. “Normally I’d be glad to see an easy entry, but where’d all the soldiers go?”

Morgana switched his grip on his crossbow. “The soldiers could’ve been assigned across the castle when the real Kamoshida saw the calling card. Either way, the Treasure is still our goal.”

Hackles still raised, he held his position outside. “I don’t trust an empty throne room. Let’s take the high route.”

Ryuji hopped up the nearby statue, then swore. “Hey, it’s barred!”

Akira checked his sub-machine gun and led the column of thieves, sneaking along the shadowed edges of the throne room. Sub-machine gun up, he raced up the stairs to the open doors and braced behind his weapon until Morgana finished unlocking both sets of doors to the treasury vault. Plans for a calm and swift exit shriveled up when he laid eyes on a giant crown resting on the gold vase.

Morgana stared, eyes dilating and limbs going still. Even his tail hung motionless in the air.

Ryuji gawked at the massive, sparkling gold crown. “How the hell are we supposed to get this huge thing out?”

Ann looked over it with clear wonder. “I wasn’t expecting something this… pretty.” She crossed her arms, lips taking a bitter curl. “Isn’t this supposed to be Kamoshida’s desires? It should be black and ugly.”

Akira shrugged, stepping over the gold-strewn floor to try to figure out a good place to lift from. “Could be his self-styled representation. I bet if I had a palace and treasure, I’d want it to look nice.”

Morgana’s hands opened and his crossbow slipped with a clink to the gold piled over the floor, its bayonet digging into a pile. His jaw drifted open and a feline moan began.

Akira rushed to the doorframe, looking through the open vault doors to the decorative ones leading to the throne room. “You idiot! Keep it down!”

Morgana hopped up onto the side of the huge crown, grabbing on and rubbing his face on it.

Sharing a glance with Akira, Ryuji scrambled up to grab him, then threw the cat-person to the floor with a clinking of gold koban coins.

“Ow!” Morgana pushed himself to his feet, eyes flashing to the three humans before falling to the floor. He kicked at a pile of kobans. “Forgive me for such an unseemly display, my lady.”

Ann just gave him a raised eyebrow. “That was… completely weird. Usually you and Joker are both so cautious.”

Morgana and Akira both snorted, then looked at the other.

Morgana fidgeted with his hands, eyes still on the floor. “It… it just came over me. I had no idea human desires would have such an affect.” He straightened, face an impassive mask. “Anyways, you guys need to carry it.”

Ryuji snapped, “What about you?”

Keeping his finger out of the trigger well, Akira waved the sub-machine gun at Morgana. “Reaper, look at him. He has a big head. And little arms. I don’t think you thought this through.”

Ryuji kicked at coins underfoot, sending a large scatter clattering around. “Still, I figured there’d be some elaborate trap and villainous gloating.”

“Jinx,” Akira said with a grin.

Ryuji’s face fell into a cold stare. “Shut up, asshole.”

Akira knelt down to pick up a koban. “That reminds me, did you guys keep the stuff you picked up the other day? I didn’t remember doing it, but when I took off my school jacket in the real world, I found a couple of these coins.”

Ryuji’s eyes popped wide open and he almost dropped his shotgun. “This stuff is _real_?” Slinging the firearm, he grabbed fistfuls and shoved them in his pockets, then grabbed for Akira’s pocket to continue, “Here, you help haul out stuff.”

The runner released one handful and tried for another by the time Akira dodged away. “I am not a pack mule.”

Ann snapped, “Would you two focus on the Treasure we came here for?”

Ryuji dropped the big handful. “_Fine_. It ain’t like this is a _perfect_ opportunity. And ain’t we thieves, anyway?”

“I am _not_ a thief!” Akira snarled. Stowing his sub-machine gun, he took position at the crown and counted to three before they lifted it.

“Wow, this thing’s heavy.”

“Not as much as a real gold thing this size would be,” Akira said, picking his footing over piles of gold koban coins. “Good thing I don’t have scoliosis.”

Ryuji’s eyes disappeared up behind his mask. “What?”

“Abnormal curvature of the spine,” Akira explained as they passed through the vault doors. “It results in weakness and muscle pain and tends to get worse with age. It’s one of the more common conditions chiropractors have to treat.”

Morgana opened the doors, crossbow resting over his shoulder as he followed them out into the throne room. “What a successful mission, a treasure and three Persona users to boot. I scored the jackpot with this investigation. Muahaha!”

The team just passed the raised throne when the eerie false-Ann clapped from the balcony above. “Go! Go! Go Kamoshida!”

Ann snarled. “I’m gonna kill that little bitch.”

“She’s not real,” Akira reminded, pulling the huge Treasure toward the doors out. “She’s a cognition in Kamoshida’s mind.”

“I’m gonna kill that cognitive bitch,” she amended.

Kamoshida’s Shadow leaped out, spiking a volleyball into the crown, knocking it clattering to the ground. Soaring through the air, he landed at the throne and reached one arm out. The crown shrank down to the size of an ordinary, wearable accessory and flew to his outstretched hand. The cognitive facsimile of Ann dashed down the stairs from the balcony to him, clutching his arm between her voluminous breasts and baring the hot pink speedo.

Akira fell to his knees, hands slapping over his face. “Oh God, my eyes!”

Kamoshida shot him a hooded glare and for a moment it looked like his eyes glowed from within. “You’ll die first.” He tossed up his Treasure, catching it with a vicious smirk spreading over his face. “_Nobody_ takes what is mine.”

Akira stood, back to serious at the flick of a switch. “I have to ask… why’s your treasure a crown when you’re already wearing a crown? Why do you need two?”

Kamoshida growled, his glare intensifying.

Ryuji braced behind his shotgun. “So, you layin’ in wait?”

“Yeah,” Akira drew his sub-machine gun. “It makes me nervous when a pervert springs an ambush.”

Kamoshida spat at the floor. “Don’t flatter your own importance. I just arranged for easy disposal of garbage.”

Ann’s face twisted in anger. “You sick bastard.” She pointed her pistol at the micro-bikini-clad Ann draping herself over his arm. “Is that how you see all girls?”

Giving an exaggerated sigh, Kamoshida shook his head. “Of course you would fail to understand.” He wrapped his arm around the cognitive Ann, fondling her breast. “_Some_ people understand that a little sacrifice on her part meant not only could she benefit, but so could that obsessive player she clung on to make her empty life feel like it meant something.”

Her leather-clad hands clenched in fists. “You sick piece of shit. Shiho was my _friend_. My _best_ friend. And you _knew_ what you were doing was wrong. You kept it a secret for _years_.”

Kamoshida tossed the crown up, shaking his head. “It was the people _around_ me who kept it a secret. The students who wanted to get ahead in life. The adults who longed to bask in my accomplishments.” Catching the crown, he threw his arms wide. “There’s nothing wrong with using my gifts for my gain. I’m just letting them profit as well.”

Ryuji bared his teeth. “Bastard. You think you’re above everyone else?”

“I _am_ above everyone else, in this world and yours. What I _don’t_ need are imbeciles who stumble around screwing up everyone else because they can’t understand the simplest things. Like that girl who tried to kill herself.”

Akira’s grip on his gun trembled, face twisting in rage. “Suzui was _not_ an idiot, and she wasn’t _just some girl_! She was the only girl at Shujin with strength and kindness!”

Ann dropped into a firing posture of her own. “And _none_ of us need your permission to live our lives. You don’t stand _above_ us, you slither _below_ us.”

Eyes aglow with gold, Shadow Kamoshida snarled, “I am Kamoshida!” Darkness poured off it like black fog, swirling around him.

Akira roared in hate, spraying a burst into the transforming beast.

Kamoshida’s silhouette distended, puffing out and stretching up higher and higher. The darkness broke with unnatural suddenness, revealing a towering, leathery-skinned monstrosity with bulging eyes and a protruding belly. Four arms held out from its sides and a tongue longer than a train car hung from his mouth, holding off the ground more like a monkey’s prehensile tail than dangling piece of drooling flesh. “I do whatever the hell I want.”

Akira fought down the urge to vomit when a single eye diverted from Ann to him. “Even in the freest world, the freedom of your actions ends when it curtails others’ lives!”

Kamoshida slashed a three-meter-long gold knife down.

Akira dove for the side, shouting, “Berith!”

Blue ebbed above him, coalescing into a grey-plated horseman on a rusty-brown mare. It braced its spear and galloped at Kamoshida’s Shadow.

As soon as Captain Kidd formed, it raised its canon-bearing arm and sent howling winds at the Shadow.

Carmen stood straight, her frilly dress flapping around her, and tensed her hands as if shaping and etching clay. A glowing blue ball grew between her hands.

Kamoshida stabbed a two-pronged gold fork down at Kidd, who surfed out of the way.

Berith stabbed the Shadow’s leg, dodged the rod and fork, then wheeled around to retreat from the assault by the weapons in the four-armed monstrosity’s hands.

Zorro flew up, stabbed Kamoshida in between the protruding ribs on its misshapen body.

The Shadow slashed it with its enormous knife, knocking Zorro into the balcony’s railing and Morgana stumbling backwards.

Kamoshida snapped the rod in his lower hand to the ground. Something opened behind him, and six emaciated boys locked in full iron helms scrambled up on all fours, pulling carts of volleyballs. As soon as they took position beside the Shadow, they reached in and began hurling volleyballs.

Despite their comical look, the impacts struck Berith like sledgehammers. Akira flinched several times and stumbled under the assault until he unsummoned it. “Andras!”

Carmen hurled her huge ice ball, detonating against Kamoshida and freezing one of the chained boys in a thick crust of frost.

The remaining prisoner-boys shifted target to Captain Kidd, surfing high in the air around Kamoshida.

Ryuji grit his teeth. “Damn, man, that actually hurts.”

Morgana came alongside Ryuji and loosed a crossbow bolt at one of the cognitive boys. “Leave those to me.” His and Zorro’s eyes blazed with blue-white. Wispy tendrils of the same sprang up around many of the volleyballs, most of them arcing away from Kidd and Carmen while others turned all the way into Kamoshida.

***

Carmen’s ball of ice soared into the formation next to Kamoshida, exploding with a burst of icy fog and leaving two of the demon’s emaciated henchmen frozen. The four-armed beast snarled and swung its three-meter knife, its movements slower and less precise but still strong.

Agathion wriggled its fingers, floating safely out of the giant demon’s reach, and lightning lanced into Kamoshida.

Zorro swiped its rapier, deflecting another volleyball from the iron-helmed minions as it used its telekinesis to deflect most of the rest headed at the team’s Personas.

Morgana ran, sliding to a stop near Akira. “Joker! We don’t have the brute force to overpower him.”

Akira snarled and lifted his sub-machine gun for another quick burst. “If violence isn’t solving our problems, we’re not using enough of it.”

Morgana sighed. “The Treasure must be strengthening the Shadow, Joker. We _have_ to get it away from him. If we can’t steal the treasure, all our efforts are useless.”

Akira reached out a hand, calling back Agathion. He spared a growl at his short compatriot. “Then _you_ go get it. Pillar of Heaven!”

Kidd floated past the churning swirl of darkness and fire like a surfer, the swift ease of motion drawing a pang of jealousy in Akira. Refocusing on the demon, he glared at the bulging eye locked onto him like a chameleon’s twitching sensor and shot a bolt of fire into it.

Kamoshida snarled and he reared back, the putrescent purple tongue winding up. Akira turned and ran for all he was worth to keep out of its swipe, the other Personas scattering either for height or distance.

The dripping tongue slammed down. Kidd dodged above it, but Carmen and Pillar both couldn’t move out of the way in time.

Ann and Akira tumbled to the ground with the force of the blow against their Personas.

Gritting his teeth, Akira shoved himself back up and sent out another pulse of darkness. The blow sent a small twitch through Kamoshida’s arm.

Growling, the transformed Shadow glared with one eye.

Pillar sent another pulse of darkness into the malformed demon, then a second and third.

Kamoshida swiped his giant knife through Pillar and Akira fell to his knee with a grunt of pain, hand clutching his side.

Pillar shot another blast of fire into Kamoshida’s face, drawing a growl.

Kamoshida lifted his enormous burgundy glass. Wine sloshed around the terrified cognitive Ann as she struggled to cling to the glass, tipping over and pouring into the Shadow’s gaping maw.

Kidd shot another concentrated pulse of wind at it, continuing circling.

Morgana leapt out from upper balcony, knocking against the crown, but instead of flying off, slimy black tendrils underneath pulled it back onto his head. Morgana cringed back, grabbed one of the demon’s horns to steady himself.

Morgana’s eyes glowed and Zorro telekinetically pulled at the crown, exposing the tendrils reaching from the crown to bury into the Shadow’s head.

Carmen sent a bolt of ice at the tendrils.

Pillar blasted a pulse of fire into Kamoshida’s face, splitting its attention from the struggle on its head.

Morgana jumped and swung his crossbow, its long bayonet severing the tendrils and sending the crown crashing and shrinking off to the side.

Kamoshida screamed and thrashed wildly, knocking Morgana away. Darkness blasted like high-pressure steam from its mouth and every scratch.

Pillar sent another bolt of darkness at the Shadow, joined by a blast of exploding ice from Carmen, freezing the remaining minions and winding the shrinking demon Kamoshida.

Collapsing his crossbow, Morgana dashed after the man-sized crown as Zorro hurled one of the frozen slaves into the Shadow.

At last reduced to his human – if still towering – size, Kamoshida dove for the crown, kicking Morgana out of the way. A bullet pinged against the ground, centimeters from him, and the Shadow dashed for the balcony but stopped in the doorway.

Akira took aim. “What’s wrong? Can’t handle the last thing you pushed Suzui into?” He gave a feral grin. “No, that’s too good for you.” Lining up the sights, he glanced down at the action locked forward, the magazine empty. He snarled.

Breathing heavy, Kamoshida spun left, then right.

Ann advanced, pistol raised. “What’s wrong? Isn’t the _great_ athlete going to run?”

Kamoshida took a shaky step closer to the balcony, clutching the crown like a drowning man a life-saver. “You’re just like all the others, forcing their expectations… all their needs on me. This is all for them! Why shouldn’t I be rewarded?”

Akira lowered his gun, moving Pillar closer. It pulsed with churning flames, his face grim.

Kamoshida cowered behind an upraised hand, “No, please…”

Carmen shot an ice bolt, smashing one of the double-doors and encrusting part of the balcony.

Ann’s lips bared teeth. “How many people begged you the same way? Did Kiriko-senpai scream for mercy when you did it to her? Did Shiho?”

Kamoshida trembled, glanced out at the balcony, cringed, then looked back in. His knees knocked.

Ann took another step closer, pistol steady despite the tears of anger forming at the corners of her eyes. “Shiho saw the same view. I bet she was terrified, but _she_ didn’t have anywhere to turn.”

Pillar loomed behind Akira and he crossed his arms. Fire and darkness churned, eager to be released. “So what’s it gonna be, bastard? Jump? Or do we finish you off here and now?”

Kamoshida looked down at the crown in his hands and blubbered. “Everything’s over when you lose!” He slid to his knees, shaking hands losing their grip and letting the crown roll out over the tiled floor. After at least a minute of messy tears, he took in a shuddering breath and sat back on his heels. “Do what you want. You won that right.”

Morgana reached for the crown.

Akira’s teeth ground together. Pillar pulsed, its bottom swirling out wider, darkness reaching out.

Ann flicked out her arm, fingers spread. Those five slender, gloved digits were all it took to stop him. A vicious snarl flickered over his face, but when his eyes slid to her, all his energy fled. Shiho may have infatuated him, but she was Ann’s best friend for years.

Kamoshida’s eyes dropped and his shoulders slumped. “Just… finish me off. End it all.”

Ann’s fists curled, the leather straining, her teeth grinding. After tense seconds, she let out a primal scream. Carmen hurled an ice ball.

Akira’s heart jumped in his chest.

The ball struck the balcony and exploded. Shards of stone flew and a part-frost-encrusted Kamoshida tumbled back into the throne room.

Ann sucked in a deep breath, her teeth clenched. “A brain-dead shit-head can’t confess his crimes.”

Kamoshida gathered himself back onto his knees, looking up at her through teary eyes. “What would I do now?”

Ann lowered her pistol. “Atone for your sins. Every. Last. One.”

Kamoshida bowed until his forehead touched the floor. After a moment, Akira could’ve sworn he saw the pattern of tiles below through the bowing Shadow’s body.

Akira opened his mouth to ask Morgana if Kamoshida was supposed to turn translucent when a tremor shot through the castle.

Morgana’s eyes snapped wide. “The Palace is crumbling! Let’s get out of here!”

Friday, 22 April 2016  
Shujin, Front Gates

“The destination has been deleted. Thank you for your hard work.” Akira’s phone said, the alley around them hemming in the sound and making the soft voice seem louder.

Ann sucked in a breath, pressing a hand against her side. “Holy shit. And I thought fighting that demonic Kamoshida was bad.”

Akira coughed once, then spat blood at the dirty alley pavement.

Ann’s eyes widened. “You’re bleeding.”

Jaw shifting, Akira flinched in pain. “I must’ve bit my tongue. It’s nothing.”

Ryuji pushed up from bracing against his knees, holding his weight off his left leg. “What did that nav thing mean?” He brought up his own smart phone. His eyes widened. “Dudes, the bookmark _is_ gone!”

Ann sat against one of the air conditioning units. “The… the Palace is totally _gone_?”

Morgana stepped out from behind Ryuji, a smirk clear despite the gold medal held in his mouth. He hopped up next to Ann and set it down. “Heh heh.”

Ann stared down at it. “What about the crown?”

Morgana sat. “This was the root, or perhaps seed, of Kamoshida’s distorted desires. To him, the medal is worth as much as that giant crown in the Palace.”

Ryuji’s lips curled in disgust. “An Olympic medal. Figures that perv couldn’t let go of his past glory.”

Ann glanced at Akira, then to their shape-changed guide. “Does that mean his heart changed?”

Ryuji stood straight. “Wait, if we got his medal here…”

Morgana shook his head. “This is a manifestation of his cognition. Kamoshida’s real Olympic gold is still wherever he keeps it.” He prodded the medal with a paw. “I guess in a twisted way, I can understand one part of his desire. Once you’ve gotten an Olympic gold, what way is there to go but down?”

Ann let out a relieved sigh. “Thank god, at least we won’t be arrested as thieves. Does this mean his heart changed?”

Morgana’s confidence flagged. “It… should.”

Ryuji disassembled his shotgun and hid its sections in his school bag. “_Should_ ain’t good enough when I’ve got an expulsion comin’ up in less than two weeks.”

Morgana stood, tail twitching in agitation. “I can’t give you answers when I don’t have them. It’s not like I’ve got a dozen toppled Palaces under my belt. This was _my_ first success.” The tail lowered. “But the _whole_ castle collapsed. That must have been a lot of suppressed weight pressing down on him.”

Ryuji glanced at Akira. “Hey, since when are you the quiet one? Don’t you wanna know too?”

Morgana sighed. “We’ll just have to be patient.” He narrowed his eyes at Akira. “Now stop looking gloomy. Kamoshida’s Shadow said he’s returning to his self in reality. Even if he _was_ scum, maybe he regained his conscience.” He took in a steady breath. “Whatever happens to Kamoshida, we definitely saved a lot of people.”

Ann struggled to make a smile. “Yeah.” She looked over the alley at Akira. “What about you? You haven’t said a word since the throne room.”

“It’s time to go.” Akira turned and limped off at a speed as close to a power-walk as he could manage.

Morgana sighed. “I’ll go keep an eye on him. You two rest up.”

“Make sure he goes to that doctor,” Ann called after them.

Friday, 22 April 2016  
Evening  
Inokashira Park

Akira pumped his arms, racing over the paved path. Every limb ached and stabbing pains lanced through his torso, but not enough to drive away a dozen voices haunting his mind.

“_There’s no way a nice girl like that would be caught_ dead _with Kamoshida_,” he remembered saying.

“_You better not_,” Ann snapped at him days ago. “_Kamoshida’s harsh enough when he doesn’t think we’re ‘distracted_’.”

Akira dodged around a clump of three strolling pedestrians, his hip protesting at the change in momentum.

Shiho’s voice sounded in his mind’s ear, “_Not at all, I think it’s a very good goal to work towards. It’s something good for society and good for you_.”

“_We’re best friends, have been since middle school. She works so hard and I can’t… I can’t mess up something she loves_.”

Akira’s heart pounded, and his limbs felt like lead.

“_Try not to worry about the things people say_,” Shiho told him.

“_Don’t be so nosy_,” Ann snapped.

Despite his efforts, Akira’s jog slowed and the light-headed sensation failed to take away his pain.

“_Just make sure not to screw things up for Shiho_.”

“_It’s okay, Ann. I think he does mean well_.”

Heaving breaths and stumbling, Akira returned to Yongen. Once there, the feeling of sweat-salt crusting his exercise shirt diverted him to the baths across from Leblanc. Even as he sat back in the hot water, it felt like crushing weight pressed down.


	16. April 23rd, Price of Victory

Persona 5: Daywatch

Saturday, 23 April 2016  
Morning  
Aoyama-Itchome Station

Feeling suffocated, Akira forced his way out of the train with other throngs of students. Stopping to lean against a tiled support column, he struggled to catch and slow his breath, one ear listening to announcements and the press of conversations and station noise, the other ear listening to angry industrial metal music on an earbud.

A dyed-blond head appeared out of the crowd, Ryuji coming out of the directionless mass of people. “Hey, dude.” Getting closer, he noticed the earbud and music playlist on Akira’s phone. “Man, _nothin’_ phases you. After all that with Kamoshida, I feel totally spent. I even missed breakfast today ‘cause of sleepin’ in.”

Voice as mechanical as his posture, Akira responded, “I was running until twenty-two-hundred last night and I’m still here. Ready and on time.”

Ryuji’s eyes widened, mouth curling in an impressed smile. “Duuude, you are a _machine_.” He kicked at the ground, then cringed. “Man, all this worryin’ just makes me hungrier.”

“Then buy bread at the school store.”

Ryuji practically fell to the floor, his shoulders staying slumped. “You gotta stop bein’ so hard on me.”

Saturday, 23 April 2016  
Lunchtime  
Shujin, Rooftop

A modest lunch in hand, Akira paced up the stairs and away from the halls filled with the usual meaningless drivel. He reached for the door, looking forward to leaving behind Mishima’s monotonous typing, Ann’s concerned looks, and the pointless rumors from the student body. At least on the roof he could rationalize his lonely sense of failure as something sensible, something just part of the isolated setting and not his family’s genetic legacy of failure.

The door swung open and Akira squinted against the momentary blindness from the noontime sun.

When his vision cleared, he spotted someone in a girl’s school uniform standing up from the planters, dusting her hands. Her curly, auburn hair tickled the back of his mind, but he felt too awkward to greet her by her given name when they didn’t know each other. Haru’s eyes stopped on the fresh tupperware in his hand. “Oh, you came up here to eat lunch? Don’t let me stop you.”

He gave a shallow nod of thanks to her for not protesting his presence. An empty roof would have been better, but this would have to do. “Thanks… Senpai.”

Saturday, 23 April 2016  
Lunchtime  
Halls of Shujin

Cruising from his class to the far hall where his two friends had homeroom, Ryuji spotted Ann by herself, opening a small box of pocky. “Yo.” He strode closer, hands in his pockets. “Hey, you see Akira in class today?”

Ann raised an eyebrow. “Uh, duh. He sits in front of Mishima, just a couple chairs away. At least he doesn’t spend all day checking me out.”

Ryuji flinched. “Ugh, that ain’t what I’m talkin’ about. I saw him this morning. I mean, I dunno ‘bout you, but after last night, even though I don’t know if we changed Kamoshida’s heart for sure, it’s like I got this huge weight off my shoulders.”

Ann’s gaze took on a distant quality. “I know what you mean.”

“But Akira didn’t look like that. Sure, he was leanin’ against one of those pillars at the train station listenin’ to music, but I’ve been thinkin’. He looks more like he’s got something holdin’ him down than before we went up against big and ugly.”

Ann slouched against the wall. “Maybe so. I sent him a text last night to say thanks, and he never responded. Then all through morning classes all I heard was the scratching of his pen. He’s _always_ asked me how I’m doing.”

Ryuji grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. “You sure he wasn’t checkin’ you out back there?”

Her eyebrows furrowed. “Yes. I’m sure. Unlike you, he has some class.”

Chouno paced up the stairs, looking left and right with an aggravated air. “Damn, where is that kid? I have my own students to deal with.” Pausing when she spotted Ann, the English teacher marched closer. “Well, Takamaki, you’ll have to do. Kamoshida-san took the day off. They’re holding study hall instead of PE today. Make sure you tell Kurusu-kun. Kawakami is busy and I have my own class to take care of.”

Ryuji’s eyes widened and he jerked his hands out of his pockets. “Kamoshida ain’t here? He never missed a day in his life!”

Chouno shrugged, though her eyes fell away from the two students. She took a step closer, her eyes flicking left and right. “You didn’t hear it from me, but I heard Kamoshida put himself under suspension.”

Ann stood up from the wall. “So soon before the tournament? No way.”

The gossipy teacher in maroon leaned closer. “Principal Kobayakawa left to talk to him about it. He’s never hesitated to be heavy-handed before, so I can’t believe he’d just let the coach disappear at a time like this. But after he came back from Kamoshida’s he’s been locked up in his office.”

Ryuji looked to Ann. “You think the expulsions are why Akira’s been so moody?”

“Expulsions?” Chouno crossed her arms, zeroing in on the artificial blond. “I haven’t seen any papers about it. I know the rumors, but Kamoshida’s normally very prompt about getting work done. If he’s not there to defend it they may be thrown out. Anyway, make sure you relay that to Kurusu.” She turned and trotted away.

Ann swallowed her pocky and drew another stick. “I don’t think the expulsions were it, he never seemed phased by it before. It’s like it wasn’t even in his mind, just avenging Shiho.” She gave a self-derisive smirk. “He was just as gung-ho about it as I was, and he only knew her a couple of days.” She chowed down, then swallowed as her eyes widened. “Maybe that’s what I could do. Earlier he asked to come along and see Shiho.”

Ryuji turned to her. “She’s awake?”

Ann shook her head. “No, but he wanted to apologize. Besides Yuuki, Akira was probably hardest hit by Shiho’s…” Her eyes fell, “suicide attempt. Maybe if I invite him along today, he’ll be able to deal with what happened.”

Ryuji scratched his neck. “Why’d those two take it so hard? I thought _you_ were her BFF?”

Ann set her pocky on the nearby locker and drew her phone, preparing a text for Shiho’s mother. “When Akira arrived, I wasn’t… too good to him. Shiho, having the heart two times too big for her, of course gave him a smile and some quiet encouragement.” Tapping the send, she drew in a breath. “Maybe… at least I can do this much.”

Saturday, 23 April 2016  
After School  
Shujin, Class 2-D

The bell rang and Ann tossed her things together, looking across the class to see Akira’s lethargic motions despite Yuuki’s attempts to provoke him into conversation about the upcoming midterms. Or whether they’d still be around for them. Navigating through the desks, she stopped next to his. “Hey, Akira. Come on.”

Akira looked up at her, hands still packing with no sign of hurry.

Glancing at Yuuki to note he was listening, she kept her focus on Akira. “Shiho’s mom got back to me. It’s okay for you to come visit today.”

Behind him, Yuuki flinched. Akira’s eyes snapped wide for fraction of second, but he composed himself back to the creepy robotic Akira a moment later. “You… you sure?”

She looked to Yuuki. “I’m sure you—”

Yuuki shook his head, shouldering his school satchel and turning away. “I’ve no right to see her. What could I possibly say?”

Stepping aside to let him out, Ann gestured to Akira. “Hurry up. Train ride’s forty-five minutes each way.”

Saturday, 23 April 2016  
Hospital, Room 248

A woman with a thin, green head-scarf looked up as the two teenagers entered. Deep circles around her eyes gave her a gaunt appearance. “Oh, hello, Ann-chan.” She glanced over at the curly-haired boy. “And you are?”

Akira bowed, still showing no outward sign of emotion. “Kurusu Akira. Please just call me Akira.”

Miss Suzui lifted a hand to straighten her cyan sweater in the air-conditioning. “Such a polite lad.” Her stomach growled and a thin frown formed. “A little forward, though. So you’re the new friend Ann-chan told me about?”

Akira bowed again, reminding Ann more of a wooden doll than the passionate comrade she thought she knew. “I feel like that might be presuming, Suzui-san. Your…” His throat tensed. “Your daughter was the first one at Shujin to show me any kindness.” Coming up slow, his breath hitched and he didn’t quite look at the girl wrapped in casts and tubes. “She… you have an amazing daughter.”

She gave a plastic smile. “Ann-chan, if you could watch over Shiho? I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

“Oh, of course Suzui-san.”

The weary mother stepped out. Ann took a position at the foot of the bed while Akira came to a stop near the head. A rigid plastic collar still locked Suzui’s neck, casts and pins on both legs and another cast on her left arm highlighted the severity of her injuries.

Akira lowered to both knees, touched his fingers to his forehead, stomach, then shoulders, and folded his hands on the edge of the bed. “Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum…”

Ann stepped closer, taking her left arm in her right. With no idea what to say to either one, she listened to him go in in prayer in that strange language until he stopped, then prayed in plain language for Shiho’s health. Then he began the prayer in that strange language again and she couldn’t stand the awkwardness, so she knelt next to him.

Akira froze, hands tense in their perch on the edge of the bed. “Sorry, am I bothering you?”

Ann shifted her weight from her left knee to her right. “To be honest, it felt wrong to just be standing around when you were kneeling there. Sounds like you were really… fervent.”

Akira looked over Shiho. “Nobody’s ever described me as pious before.”

Ann brushed the tip of one pigtail off her shoulder. “Well… Shiho and her mother would—_do_ appreciate you praying for her healing.”

Akira’s gaze drifted away. “It… only seems appropriate.” He brought his hands down to his sides, rubbing his left arm where she remembered his Persona taking quite a blow days ago. “You know, God in the Catholic Church is portrayed as a lot of things. King. Father. Most especially judge. Father Motoori said the Greek Orthodox Church holds him up as a healer and I always liked that particular avatar. It’s probably why I decided to go into chiropractics. Jesus healed people everywhere he went, and sermons are always going on about how we’re supposed to try to be like him. So I decided the best way to be the opposite of my old bastard is to be a healer.” He gave a self-derisive smirk. “It would be pretty far from everything else I’ve done in my life so far.”

Ann fidgeted, then could no longer ignore the call of nature and stood. “I need to use the bathroom.”

Akira nodded, tapping his fingers against himself again before settling back into his strange prayer.

Ann trotted out to the public restroom a few minutes away. On the way back, she heard Akira talking, but on peeking into the room saw nobody else. Despite knowing it was rude to eavesdrop, she pressed herself next to the doorway and listened in.

“…Smiling Mountain Mental Institute. Until Isshiki’s death and he was assigned as head of research.” Akira gave a bitter snort. “Imagine it. A fourth grader who thought it was normal for his father to put him in experiments. That’s why they started calling me the lab freak’s kid. Or sometimes they’d call _me_ ‘lab freak’. The first day from school I came back to the institution in tears. My old bastard lost it. He always had a temper, but he usually _yelled_ before. That was the first time he hit me. And kept on doing it. He said ‘men don’t cry’ some time before I blacked out. That was when I started getting into fights. The teachers always _said_ I shouldn’t fight, but… they _expected_ it. They stopped whispering behind my back and looking down their noses at me. When I ran away from school that first day with tears and snot running down my face, the way they looked at me said more than a million words. Violence was okay. Crying was not.”

A cyan sweater against the sterile white drew Ann’s attention to the hall in the direction of the cafeteria to Suzui’s mother.

Uncertain why she felt her heart rate spike, she scrambled inside and gave a smile that wouldn’t fool an infant. “Well, I’m back.”

Akira jerked in the chair pulled up next to the bed, taking his clasped hands into his lap. She thought she noticed some faint puffiness around his eyes, but by the time she got close enough to be sure he already rubbed his face to straighten himself out.

Glancing at the two youths at her daughter’s bedside, Suzui’s mother came to the foot of the bed. “Any change?”

Ann shifted her weight to her other foot. “No, she’s still unconscious.”

Akira stood and stepped away from the chair so Shiho’s mother had a clear path. “She’ll pull through,” he said, tone dull and controlled, though she thought she heard a hint of need in it. “If ever I met a strong person, it’s Suzui.”

Shiho’s mother pulled a half-spent packet of tissues from her pocket and snatched one out for herself. “She… yes, she certainly is.”

Saturday, 23 April 2016  
Evening  
Yongen

Darkness fell as the sun sank low behind the mountains, natural and man-made, of Tokyo. Akira held up a hand in a lazy wave of acknowledgment at the owner of the second-hand shop and kept going. The echoes of the multitudes on the train rang in his ears, somehow only enhanced by the silence of the almost-empty road.

Akira’s phone blasted Alliance Force Assemble and he hissed in annoyance before drawing it. He groaned when he saw Ryuji’s ID on the text app, then settled his back against the dark theater building. “Can I not get five minutes to myself in this city?”

[You back from the hospital yet?]

Akira typed in, [I just got to Yongen. Don't forget how many transfers I need before I get anywhere.]

A tone played and Ann joined the chatroom. [All safe and sound, then. I didn't realize how much homework I was putting off until I got back.]

Akira rolled his eyes. [I just wish there was something I could've done. I hate feeling useless.]

[I hear ya, bro. All this waiting has me antsy. Want to go on a trip or something?]

[Sure.] Akira glanced down at his school satchel, hanging off his shoulder, with Morgana peering up at him from inside. [You and me can hit the library.]

Ryuji’s response came fast. [Um, yeah no. Do you remember all the talking the last time we made that mistake?]

Ann’s response came next. [There's plenty of diners in Shibuya.]

Akira grimaced, not liking looking like a negative person. [Me and crowds don't mix. I'm also not so sure about Shibuya, I think I ran into a meeting I wasn't supposed to see.]

[Holy shit! You run into the yakuza?]

Akira sighed, pushed his glasses up and rubbed the spot on the bridge of his nose for a few moments. [Let's not get overexcited. Just a couple thugs talking about drugs in an alley. Although if you hear anything related, shoot me a quick message.]

[That is so cool, man!]

Even Morgana sighed. “Reaper, you must have _serious_ problems with concentrating.”

Several seconds passed of as much quiet as this neighborhood of Tokyo got until a helicopter rumbled through the air above.

Ryuji’s ID pulsed, three dots dancing for a few moments. [So back to less alley talk, how's Suzui? Everybody in class's been quiet and antsy since her incident.]

[I told her we settled things with Kamoshida. She's still in a coma, but… I had to make amends.]

Akira straightened against the dark theater door. [You didn't do anything wrong, Ann. Kamoshida's the one who did.]

Ann’s response came so fast he could almost hear the self-scathing tone. [But I was there next to her the whole time. What kind of friend could be that close and let that happen?]

Morgana’s ears drooped. “That poor, kind girl.”

“Pity helps nobody,” Akira snapped. [Don't you dare start moping about might-haves. We're here now and what happened happened. All we can do now is decide what we do from here on.]

No sound but the helicopter circling overhead interrupted the night, and Akira slid further underneath the theater’s overhang. When he looked back at the chat, Ann added, [You're right. I have to make up for what I should've done or I won't be able to move on.]

Ryuji pinged next, [When'd you get so fired up? I don't remember you being so passionate in middle school.]

Ann wrote, [I think I was just trying to get by before. But with all of you, I know there's more. To me, and to life. More that I should've been doing all along. You're right, though. We should do something when this blows over.]

Akira stared at the chat. “I dunno if that would be a good idea. The cops didn’t like me hat-snatching while I was attending Inuri.”

Morgana looked askance at him. “You do know there are things you can do for fun that _aren’t_ illegal, right?”

Akira slipped his phone into his pocket and headed for the cafe. “Not until cannabis is legal.” He pushed open the door to Leblanc, the annoying bell jingling.

Sojiro looked up from counting through the register. “You keeping busy out there?”

Akira shrugged. “Trying to keep up with school.”

Sojiro counted out one last thing, wrote into his cell phone, then closed the register. “You have some time? We haven’t really sat down to chat since you got here. There’s a lot of things I’d like to ask.”

Akira kept walking until reaching the coffee siphons by the sink, but stopped short of the hallway to the stairs. Guessing he’d lose more credit than he’d gain by keeping to himself, he let out a breath, set his school satchel down on the booth seat behind him, and whispered to Morgana, “I’ll catch you later.”

Morgana slipped out, but only got as far as the bathroom before stopping and leaning as if readying to listen in.

Akira spun a bar stool around backwards, plopped on it, and leaned away.

Sojiro looked away, struggled to think for a moment, then looked at him with a focused gaze like plenty of the fuzz around Inuri. “How’s school? You’re not causing any trouble, are you?”

Akira crossed his arms, jaw set. “Of course _I_ would have to be the one causing trouble.”

Sojiro sighed, then started straightening things by the coffee machines. “I’m just trying to get started, here. I have to report to your probation officer twice a month. Consider how much of a pain in the ass it is when I’ve already got everything else to deal with.”

Scoffing, Akira tightened his crossed arms. “Right. Because all those laws to keep the people in line are worth so much when the authority figures aren’t worth the respect a healthy nation needs to keep from toppling.”

Sojiro pulled away from fiddling, giving him an analytic gaze heavy with suspicion but also curious probing. “You’ve sure got an interesting perspective.” He slid a few things inwards against the kitchen side of the bar and reached for the towel to dry his already dry hands. “Does that have anything to do with that pondering you were doing the other day about fathers building someone up?

Akira straightened on the stool. “I wasn’t expecting that to come up again. I figured you’d pretend you weren’t there and hope I forgot.”

Sojiro shrugged his shoulders in the nervous manner like he had _exactly_ that thought but didn’t want to admit it. “I went to get your cat some food, I didn’t intend to listen in. But yes, I heard a few things.” He set the towel down. “Not that I’m saying it’s a bad thing to talk things out, even to a cat. Sometimes you can help straighten out an idea that way.” The middle-aged man smirked. “But every once in a while you might want to talk things out with a person. They can talk back and maybe even help you figure something out.”

Akira drummed his fingers against the counter. “I’d have to trust that nobody’d stab me in the back to want to do that. Only problem is people tend to be humans, and that seems to be their modus opperandi.”

“People aren’t all bad,” Sojiro shot back. His phone rang and he stepped back to the shelves to answer. “What’s wrong?” A young, feminine voice floated out from his phone, not quite loud enough for distinct words to reach Akira’s ears. “Sorry, I’ll head out now.”

Akira slumped over his bar stool. “Hot date?”

Frowning, Sojiro’s brow drew together and down. “You can see I’ve got plenty on my plate, professionally and personally. What about you?”

Akira leaned away, grabbing onto the chair’s back to stay steady. “I put in an application to work up at Ore no Beko up in Shibuya. Only problem is they only need people for the evening shift.”

Sojiro’s arms crossed. “You want to go wandering off all the way to Shibuya at night? I have to justify your actions to a probation officer, you know! If it was something on the way from school I could understand, as long as you keep up on your studies, but I still have to lock up and _I’ve_ got plenty to do myself.” He paused, his eyes falling on the coffee makers. His stance relaxed. “Though while we’re at it, you could lend a hand here.”

Akira looked around the empty diner. “Yeah, these crowds must really test the limits. I don’t know how you keep it together. All that fat loot must really weigh you down.”

Rolling his eyes, Sojiro stepped closer. “I’m not asking you to work for free. These beans aren’t just for show. If you pitch in, I’ll teach you how to brew the perfect cup.” He smirked as if he said something brilliant. “What do you think?”

Akira slipped his hands into his pockets, shoulders drooping. “I don’t really have any friends to impress with a cup of good coffee.”

Something passed through Sojiro’s face that Akira hadn’t seen since Officer Ichijou, a look he couldn’t identify. The middle-aged man gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Never hurts to learn beforehand. Preparation beats make-up.”

Akira slumped forward. “I guess I _do_ need a part time job _somewhere_. Fair enough.”


	17. April 24th, With Grace

Persona 5: Daywatch

Sunday, 24 April 2016  
Morning  
Kanda Catholic Church

Mass over, Akira sat back in the bench and closed his eyes to listen to the shuffle of people. Slow scraping marked people gathering to chat, the _posh, posh_ of leather and rubber identifying people walking out with an energy of haste. No simple answers about what to do today arose. Despite sniping with Ryuji, Akira didn’t know what to do about Kamoshida. Standing, he realized he had yet to go to Confession like Father Motoori asked. Akira sighed, feeling his temples throb just at the prospect of talking about everything happening recently. He looked around the emptying sanctuary.

A pretty girl with a red, omamori-style knot in her hair zipped a leather-bound study bible closed and gathered a wood box and wood grid board. Curiosity stirred and he walked around the pews between them. “Hello. I see you’ve got a… hold on a second.” He counted. “Chess boards are eight across, that’s nine. Am I right in presuming that’s a shogi board?”

The girl smoothed out her conservative beige dress. Her stance remained guarded, but one corner of her mouth curled up. “That’s right, I’m a shogi player.” She gave a polite incline of her head. “Togo Hifumi.”

Akira adjusted his glasses, sudden panic shooting through him at the possibility of meeting somebody neutral who knew nothing of his checkered past. “Please, call me Akira. It’s been a little while since I played. I think there was only one person who really liked it in chess club at my last school, although it was a rather eclectic bunch there. More played go than chess, anyway.”

Togo turned a curious, analyzing gaze on him. A long moment passed before she held the board close and sidestepped to let another parishioner leave. “Oh? That’s interesting. Kosei High does have a small chess club, but that is the only game they play.”

Akira shrugged. “Well, their loss. I liked every strategy game I played, but in order to _really_ train your strategic muscle you have to test it against a variety of challenges.”

Togo paused, the gears whirling behind her dark green eyes. She glanced at her board, then back up at Akira. “Well, I brought this to play a few games with Father Sugiyama. If you have some time, we could play a quick match.”

A thrill zipped up his spine. Feeling good for maintaining more than thirty seconds of conversation without shooting himself in the foot, and even more at the prospect of being able to flex his strategic muscle, Akira gave a smirk. “Quick? I’ll have you know I’ve held off my opponent in go for hours.”

A sharpness entered Togo’s eyes, and a faint smile curled her pink lips. “Shogi is a very different game. We’ll see where each other stands.” She gestured to the pew next to her. “Is this good here?”

Akira plopped down and scooted in, leaving plenty of room for her and the board. He resisted the temptation to crack his knuckles for show, but knew his smirk still lingered. “Any_where_, any _time_.”

She set down the board, opened the box, and both began setting up.

Kanda Catholic Church

Togo took in a long breath. “The dragon which governs the blue sky has fallen into my hands!” She moved a tile. “Check.” She scooted back just a little, her eyes on Akira instead of the board. “No matter which move you make, I will have you at checkmate in less than three turns. Please concede.”

Akira stared at the board, formulating move after move and only seeing his king’s capture each time. He growled. “I do _not_ give up.” He reached out and moved his knight, placing the tile with a firmer snap than the last.

Togo folded her hands in her lap. “To concede is to admit you have lost, _with grace_.”

Akira looked across the board, trying not to notice that she could promote another two pieces he couldn’t capture next turn. He tapped the curled knuckle of his index finger against his lip. “One more game.”

Togo breathed out. “This was our third match. I acknowledge your resolve, but part of being a good shogi player is knowing when to bow to one who has proven the better. Just because somebody has bested you does not mean either must lose dignity.”

Akira clenched his teeth, but the calm and clear way she said it left little room for him to hold onto anger at anything but himself. She _did_ beat him fair and square. Cycling breath, he sat back against the pew, closed his eyes, and took in a deep breath. “That’s a lot easier to say than to _do_.” He opened his jaw, feeling a pop and putting a hand against one side. “I’ve tried to grow beyond him, but my old bastard—”

Togo cleared her throat, throwing a clear glance to the crucifix and altar.

“Sorry.” Akira straightened. “Anyway, he taught me that to fail is to step closer to death. It’s an end to your ability to even try.”

“That… sounds very harsh,” she said, sitting back against the pew and looking at the crucifix. “In my own experience, I know I have learned more from the games I lost than any I won.” She gave a warm, affirming smile. “I know it can be difficult, especially with the national motto practically being ‘fly or die’, but my father taught me that defeat can be our greatest teacher. If we are able to hold onto grace in defeat as well as victory, we will grow that much more from either.”

Akira let out a long breath. “I… can’t argue with that.” He glanced at the board, then up into the deep green pools of her eyes. “S-so that last game…?”

She checked the time on her phone, then flashed him an apologetic smile and started putting pieces away. “I’m sorry, but my mother arranged an interview for me. I must be going.”

Father Sugiyama came up the aisle from the altar. “Good day, Daughter,” he paused to bow to Togo, who returned with a lower bow. “Son,” he bowed to Akira, who returned the gesture. “Please forgive my absence. When I noticed how focused you both looked, I couldn’t help but hold back.”

Her eyes widened as if she scrambled to excuse her hand from the cookie jar. “Oh, not at all, Father. I’m sorry I allowed myself to be distracted so long, especially after asking you to set aside time for a game.”

Father Sugiyama turned to Akira. “I see you have met our resident shogi expert, Togo-chan.”

Akira whipped around to the girl in the flattering, beige dress. “Shogi exp… I _knew_ it! You were bamboozling me.”

Father Sugiyama gave the kind of smile that hinted at more to say later. “Nonsense, I dare say Togo-chan is the most honest member of this parish. And I do include myself in that count.”

Akira felt a lump in his throat and looked away, feeling his face heat up. Determined not to let things end on a sour note to the only person to give him a good run, he bowed his head at Togo. “Sorry. It’s just that I’ve never been decimated quite so thoroughly in a strategy game before.”

Hifumi closed her tile box. “Well, you’re no novice… though everybody has room to grow.”

Akira stood. “Perhaps another game later?”

She brushed her hair back over one ear, then let out a breath, tension creeping into her expression. “Perhaps. I’m afraid I have little time during the week right now between studying for entrance exams and interviews, but perhaps I will see you here next week?”

Akira gave a flourished bow at the waist. “It would be an honor.”

Togo gave a relaxed smile that sent a shot of relief through his system, held her board and box on her left side, and gave a brief bow of her own. “Then next week after Mass.”

Father Sugiyama watched her leave for a few seconds, then turned to Akira. “I’m pleased to see you’ve made a friend. I hope this week has been gentler to you than the last?”

“I…” Akira sighed, unsure whether to call it a net gain or loss. “Well, a few things drew to a close, but I feel more like life is slipping through my fingers.”

Sugiyama nodded. “We’ve all been praying. Has the Suzui girl recovered?”

Akira’s shoulders slouched. “Takamaki and I visited her, but she’s still in a coma.”

Father Sugiyama gave a strained smile Akira assumed was meant to indicate empathy. “Well, sometimes all we can do is leave our troubles at the foot of the cross. Jesus may have told his disciples, ‘pick up your cross and follow me’ but God also told us in Genesis that ‘it is not good for man to be alone’.”

A hollow tone rang inside Akira’s mind at the last quote - yet another reminder about all the other people who had a mother or father they could trust, or a plethora of friends they could talk to on any day of the week, or a brother to back him up. Fighting off a snarl, he jammed his hands into his pockets. “I also thought he said he wouldn’t give us any more than we could bear.”

Akira stormed out as Father Sugiyama watched.

Sunday, 24 April 2016  
Evening  
Yongen, Leblanc

Akira rinsed off the last dish and pulled the plug in the bottom of the sink, then flicked water off his hands and reached for the towel. His smart phone chirped and Akira hurried to dry before bringing up the text messaging application.

Ryuji’s ID looked back at him. [Anything change with Kamoshida?]

Akira sat down at the chair on the end of the bar as Morgana hopped up on the chair next to him. [I wouldn't know. I went up to see Suzui with Ann, remember? Something up?]

[I'm just anxious. Even after all we did, we may still get expelled.]

[We've done all we can. If you can't trust what YOU did, trust what Ann and I did.]

[Man, you're being kinda hard on me.]

Akira huffed. [I'm not being hard on you, I'm being practical.] Akira took in a long breath. Maybe he was being hard on the runner. [It applies to me, too. To be honest, I don't feel like I did enough, but what's done is done. I have to believe in what you and Ann did.]

Morgana smiled and chirped from his chair, “And me, too!”

Several seconds passed before three dots pulsed, then Ryuji’s next message came in. [Dude, you really do hold everyone to a high standard, huh?]

Akira leaned on the bar, bracing on his elbows. [The one good lesson my old bastard passed on to me. Failure is death.]

[I was going to say I feel a little better after talking about this, but… for real? Maybe we both should get out and do something.]

Hifumi’s words echoed in his mind, “_Just because somebody has bested you does not mean either must lose dignity_.” She seemed so serious and sage when she said it. Even though he wanted to believe it, the words went against everything he learned in life. Screw up once, and nobody will _ever_ let you forget it.

Akira let out a short breath and typed, [I'm not really ready for celebrating right now. And I feel like I haven't left things with Ann in a good place either.]

[I guess I was worried about what's gonna happen to mom if things go south.] A short beat passed before the triple dots pulsed and he sent more. [Oh, and if there's something rough between you and Ann, please don't tell her I was doubting us, okay? She's got more than enough to handle already and I don't want her to think she's got no one to rely on.]

[Any secrets you leave with me stay with me.] Akira put his phone away and looked up to see Sojiro staring in his direction, hand pushing a polishing rag in circles on the counter. “What?”

Sojiro stretched out his shoulder, but his inscrutable look settled behind a mask with just a little suspicion. “Just tryin’ to figure a few things out. Think you’re getting used to the city?”

Akira spread his hands out on the counter. “I can navigate if that’s what you mean. Sometimes I think I’ll never get used to the _crowds_. At least things are easier once I get wherever I’m going.”

A beat passed as the middle-aged man stared at him before he straightened. “Well… you’ve been reliable so far. I suppose it’s safe enough if you want to go out at night.”

Akira straightened, feeling like a heavy chain slid from his shoulders. The unsavory types he both pranked and hung out with at Inuri tended to come out in droves when the sun went down, and he never had better luck than at night. This could mean opportunity to pay off the score with the doctor. “That mean it’s okay if I pick up that night job at the beef bowl in Shibuya?”

Sojiro dropped the polishing rag in a bin under the counter, looking tired. “As long as you take school seriously and don’t get in trouble, I don’t care. Just make sure the stove is off and you lock up.”

Monday, 25 April 2016  
Early Morning  
Aoyama-Itchome Station

The cacophony of a thousand conversations and feet in the enclosed train station assaulted Akira. He pushed and shoved through the crowd meandering up the stairs like flocking animals. At last he escaped to the street. Akira ducked to one side to get some room to breathe, one hand white-knuckled on his schoolbag and the other clenching his phone, a shogi game in progress on the screen.

Blonde pigtails appeared out of the crowd and Ann slipped out, locked onto him and trotted closer with the ease of striding from one room to another in a private house. She flashed him a smile. “Morning! How’s being packed in like sardines, city-style?”

Akira looked away, unsure if she was mocking him but unwilling to make a gaffe if she wasn’t. Ryuji’s hint that Ann had no one else to turn to echoed in his ears and he couldn’t shove her away like he had the previous days. “I thought commuter hell sounded funnier before I landed neck-deep in it.”

Ann’s plastic smile vanished and an empathetic frown crossed her face. “Sorry, I can see you don’t like it. I don’t mean to poke fun at one of your weaknesses.”

Feeling hot, Akira swallowed and looked away from the pretty girl’s concern. “Don’t worry about it.”

Ann crossed her arms and he tried not to notice the way it pushed up her breasts. “To tell the truth, I’m worried. I always get anxious when I don’t have something to do.”

Akira nodded, letting out a breath that took a little of his tension with it. He brought up his phone and slid a tile over, then submitted the move. “Me too.”

Ann took a step closer, her shoulders angling away as if she wanted to leave but her hips pointed towards him as if she wanted to turn straight to him. “Say… do you have time after school? Both of us need to switch gears.”

The narrow score he got on Chunou-sensei’s last English quiz despite being the last to turn it in weighed down on him and he mumbled, “Need to study.”

Ann forced a smile showing teeth too perfect to be real. “Then we can meet and study at the diner!” She waited several seconds as students streamed past, but when he kept his eyes fixed on his phone, she waved goodbye. “Well, see you. Thanks.”

Monday, 25 April 2016  
After School  
Shibuya, Diner

Ann moved her ice cream bowl to the far inner side of the table and turned the page in her history textbook. Books and papers spread out over the table in the cozy diner several floors up from Shibuya’s street level. Every table hosted eaters, and the few waiters working that afternoon scrambled to keep up. Despite the number of people surrounding them, the net effect left them near alone.

Ann looked up, trying to figure out what was eating at him. “So… Akira. About everything that happened with Kamoshida…”

His mechanical pencil’s lead broke and he tapped out another millimeter. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

She closed her mouth and watched him for a moment, but his shoulders never relaxed. “You haven’t touched your kale kobachi.”

He glanced at it, then went right back to writing. “I’m not hungry. Are you stuck on a problem?”

Ann glanced at her pages, well aware of how many blanks she had on papers due tomorrow. “Well, not homework. Akira, we’re worried about you. You haven’t joined us for lunch, you don’t talk to us anymore.” She forced a smile in the hopes he’d look up and see some positivity. “You’re probably not going to be expelled anymore.” When a couple seconds passed without response, she brushed her pigtail back. “Come on, Akira. We did everything we could with Kamoshida.”

He smacked his pencil down on his notebook, turning a burning gaze on her. “No, we didn’t do _everything_. Shiho’s still tied up in casts, comatose on a hospital bed and Kamoshida’s probably sipping wine in his cushy private house. _He_ should be the one in the hospital, not _Shiho_.” He snatched his pencil and looked down, shoulders hunched as he resumed writing. “If the only thing I can do right at Shujin is grades, I might as well do that.”

Ann pasted a smile over her face. Of course it would come back to Shiho. Yuuki idolized her. She was so nice, everybody in Shujin seemed to like her. When Akira arrived, all she had to do was offer him a smile and friendly words of acceptance. “I know Shujin isn’t treating you right.” When he continued writing, her false smile faded into a frown. “What about the rest of Tokyo?”

At last, his pencil stilled. “I’m… not thrilled about the crowds. And the city’s so _big_, it takes a long time to get anywhere. Whenever I notice it, I wonder why more people don’t move out.” He started writing again.

Ann decided to take what she could get. “I know what you mean. I was just starting middle school when mom and dad brought me over. I wasn’t really ready for Tokyo either. Everybody would hang back and go ‘look at the foreign girl’. I even considered dying my hair black to blend in with everyone else.” Her smile turned shallow, but felt easier. “We were in art class one day when Shiho came up and told me ‘Takamaki, your paintings suck’.” At the memory, a laugh bubbled up.

Akira looked up at her laugh. His eyes reminded her of Yuuki’s, dark and soulful, but the hunch of his shoulders smoothed out a little. “Really? I guess she was really good at always getting to the heart of the matter.”

Ann nodded, feeling her next breath come easier at seeing him relax and open up a little. “It’s the first time I can remember someone talking to me without my looks being the center of the conversation. We talked more, and soon we were best of friends.” She scanned his face, not liking the way the muscles tensed around his eyes. It looked like pain. “What about you? Any friends you keep in contact with?”

Akira leaned back in his booth seat, eyes distant. “Not really. At Inuri we were more friends by proximity than because any of us liked each other. Father Motoori was the only one I ever went to for advice, but he was the guy who tended the chapel. When I told him I was being shipped to Tokyo, he gave me the name and address for Father Sugiyama over at the church in Kanda. Officer Ichijou said as long as I saw him every week that should count for counseling.”

Ann leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “Is he nice?”

Akira looked away and stretched his shoulder, guilty look unmistakable. “I… haven’t really talked to him. Kinda hard to bring up a castle where our school should be, in a magic realm that a weird phone app teleports us to.”

Ann let out a nervous sigh. “Yeah. Maaaybe we keep that Metaverse stuff to ourselves.” She paused, remembering the grateful look on his face when Shiho told him she liked his idea about becoming a doctor. “You could talk to Ryuji and… well, to me.”

He met her eyes for only a fraction of a second before looking away, red tinging his cheeks. “I… don’t know if I’m ready. I’m not all that good at talking even when I know what I’m talking about and I’m kind of… uncertain right now.”

Watching his hunched, withdrawn posture for a few moments, Ann drew in breath to growl at his refusal to share any of his burdens when she realized he just did. He wasn’t bearing his soul to her, but she reminded herself that despite the castle he only knew her for less than a month. Admitting he didn’t know what to do was one step closer.

She pursed her lips and resolved to ask Mishima.


	18. April 26th, Kamoshida's Confession

Persona 5: Daywatch

Tuesday, 26 April 2016  
Morning  
Shujin Gym

Akira lined up with the rest of Shujin’s student population in the gym. The memory of the battle against the false angel in the Metaverse made his hackles rise. Unencumbered by knowledge of another world overlapping this one, the other students buzzed with gossip.

A pigtailed girl with gaudy hair ornaments beside him leaned to whisper to the boy on her left, her arms crossed in exasperation. “Seriously? An assembly in the middle of the week? Couldn’t they at least wait until Golden Week?”

A boy beside her with dark, short-trimmed hair leaned closer to her. “You think it’s about the girl who jumped?”

The pigtailed girl huffed. “It’s been almost two weeks. What are they going to do, tell us not to kill ourselves? Great timing.”

Ann, several spaces ahead of Akira, crossed her arms, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

Muttering filled the gym like the summer humidity until Principal Kobayakawa took to the lectern. The fat man cleared his throat and gripped the edges of the stand. “Thank you all for coming, I am pleased to announce that Kamoshida-sensei has agreed to return to Shujin today. All of us have a bright future ahead, and—”

Curtains ruffled as Kamoshida trudged out from the back of the stage. He wore a grey sweatshirt and black track slacks, both rumpled. His curly hair stood flat on one side like he just sat up from the pillow. His eyes slid closed, deep circles around them giving him a skeletal appearance.

Kobayakawa turned from the lectern, a smile splitting his face at seeing his favorite teacher after weeks. “Thank the gods, Kamoshida-san…” He paused, eyes taking in the matted hair, wrinkled clothes, and defeated slouch. “Is… everything all right?”

“I cannot keep the truth inside.” Kamoshida opened his eyes, trudged to the lectern and leaned against it for support.

The students fell silent, as if waiting for a grenade pin to drop.

Kamoshida looked away from the principal, but also avoided making eye contact with the arrayed students. “I… I physically battered my teams.” His hands tensed on the wood stand and gulped down a breath. “I sexually harassed and blackmailed the female students. I even dissolved the track team because of an argument with its coach.” His arms shook and he squeezed his eyes closed.

Paling, Kobayakawa ran up to the slouching coach, but murmuring already started from the students. A girl five or six students to Akira’s right broke down sobbing, the students around her catching her to keep her from falling to her knees. After a sharp wail, she charged the stage, passing four rows of students before one snagged her arm and brought her to a spinning halt.

The two rent-a-cops at the sides of the stage stood, frozen in shock.

“Get down!” Kobayakawa reached up and tried in vain to pull the towering athlete away from the microphone as students gabbed in excited conversation, their neat rows wavering.

A crumpled paper ball hurled through the air at the stage, snapping the rent-a-cops out of their frozen state. Both fell back to the stand, but couldn’t decide if they wanted to focus on Kamoshida or the less and less organized crowd of students.

Tears glistened at the corners of Kamoshida’s eyes. “I was so arrogant, I thought of this school as a private castle. I…” He heaved in a breath. “I am shame itself.” Tears fell. “I am the one who… who… I am the cause for Suzui Shiho’s suicide attempt!”

The rising murmur of students broke into shouting, most incredulous.

Mind reeling with the event unfolding on stage, Akira gawked at the stage. Kamoshida’s heart really did change! Spotting somebody else texting reminded him of his own phone and Akira dialed the cops. “Finally, the culprit goes six feet under for what he did to Shiho.”

One of the third year teachers bellowed, “Return to your rooms!”

Trembling, Kamoshida tumbled to all fours beside the microphone stand. Akira couldn’t hear what he said, but both school cops dove for the muscled coach. Something glinted as it tumbled away from him before they wrestled him to his stomach and zip-tied his hands behind his back.

Ann shrieked, her voice somehow carrying above the frenzied crowd, “You don’t have the right to flee, bastard! _Shiho’s_ still fighting for life! If she can keep going after everything you did to her, _you_ better atone! For _everything_!”

He couldn’t tell where it started in the discord, but a chant grew through the crowd, “Jail Kamoshida! Jail Kamoshida!”

The rent-a-cops fought to get the coach back to his feet, but once they did he shook his head and returned to the microphones, leaning down to them. “You’re right, Takamaki-chan. I have not built this school, I ruined it.” Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes. “I even tried to extort Takamaki for sexual favors.”

The rest of his words were drowned out by the shouting in the crowd. Red flashed through the gym windows as the school security hauled him back behind the curtains. Noticing the flashes coming from outside, Akira set his jaw. “Here come the fuzz.”

Tuesday, 26 April 2016  
Lunchtime  
Shujin Gym

Nodding to Ann, the police officer scribbled something at the bottom of her notepad. “Thank you, miss. We’ll be contacting you, later.” She waved two fingers at another girl waiting in line. “Next!”

Ann meandered through the gym, coming to a stop next to Akira, waiting in another line. She crossed her arms, eyes wide as she tried to take in the mess remaining across the gym after the near-riot. “I don’t believe it. His heart _did_ change.”

Ryuji wove through the scattered clumps of students refusing to disperse from the gym commandeered to interview students about Kamoshida’s meltdown. He came to a stop next to Ann, a wide grin on his face as he handed bread to her and the transfer student. “Dudes, I tried pinching myself, but it still doesn’t feel real. Am I dreaming?”

Playing on his phone, Akira slid a shogi tile over and confirmed end turn. As light-headed as he still felt, coasting on autopilot seemed as much as he could manage. He glanced up at the track star. “The fuzz always take forever. What’s the big deal?”

“I mean all over school, man!” Ryuji’s enthusiasm shone undimmed. “The teachers aren’t even trying to hold classes anymore, an’ I heard there’s even detectives at the office.”

Akira noticed Ann scanning the boys in line with him, no interest in her melon bread. When she looked back a second time, popping up on her toes for a moment, he knew something was wrong. “What’s up?”

“Where’s Yuuki?” She said, looking around the gym. “I thought he was right behind you. He looked awful.”

Akira turned and lifted his hand to point, “He’s just two…” When he saw no trace of the Class 2-D representative, a chill sank into his spine. When Mishima didn’t seem up to talking, Akira figured he just needed time to himself and focused on staying in line. But that empty look…

Akira pushed the contents of his hands to Ann and slunk out at as fast a walk as he could without drawing the adults’ eyes. As few cops as were there to watch over the crowd, none noticed his stealthy exit to the courtyard. The instant he was out, he broke into a sprint.

A trio of students chatting under the covered awning looked up as he passed, but made no move to stop his dash into the academic building.

Leaping up the stairs four at a time, Akira raced to the roof.

Metal fencing jangled as Mishima pulled himself up the inside of the roof fence.

Akira leaped over the small greens in planters, snagging Mishima’s feet.

The sudden force plucked Mishima from the heavy wire fence, and both boys tumbled backwards, landing against the plastic planters, spilling dirt and crushing baby tomato stalks.

Mishima’s face glistened under his eyes and nose. After a minute to catch his breath, he sobbed, “At least Kamoshida had the guts to confess.”

Akira more pulled Mishima to his feet than helped the crying boy up. “What are you talking about?”

Tears spilling from his eyes, Mishima snapped, “_I_ was the one who killed her.”

Akira’s hands froze, holding bunches of Mishima’s uniform shirt, his mental train derailed. The transfer student’s mouth drifted open, closed, then open again before he forced his hands open. “Mishima, I was right there when the ambulance took her away. She started to say Kamoshida’s name before she—”

Already weak, Mishima fell against Akira. “He’d hit _any_ of us.” His hoarse voice trembled as he added, “All of us. At first I thought I could withstand it so he wouldn’t hurt Shiho. I’d… I’d warn her to get out of school any time he wanted her for special coaching.” His body trembled. “But then at the nurse when you said that about concussions… I saw myself in a hospital bed, with a breathing tube in my nose and IV in my arm, with some doctor in a white coat tellin’ mom I’d never wake up again.”

Unable to decide what to do, he let Mishima cry against his uniform jacket. “And then?”

At least a minute of crying passed before Shiho’s boyfriend responded. “Ka…Kamoshida tried calling Ann-san, but she must’ve turned her phone off.” He sucked in a trembling breath. “He was _livid_. He turned on me and hit me harder than he ever did before. I fell and everything went black for a few seconds.” His voice cracked, tears still falling. “And all I could see was a vision of me drooling in a wheelchair for the rest of my life. So when he sent me for Shiho,” he heaved in a ragged breath, “I went.”

Akira’s fists tightened just _thinking_ of the loveliest girl in school being in his office.

Mishima’s eyes stared into the unseen distance. “She looked so tired, but she was still so beautiful. I tried to warn her. But she wouldn’t go. Said he’d know she was still at school.” He sat back against his heels, his voice cracking as he grabbed fists of his hair. “I sent her to him! The nicest, prettiest, most amazing girl in the world and I sent her to that monster!” Letting go, he took a stumbling step back at the fence. “He didn’t push her off that roof, I did!”

Akira’s hands curled into fists and red haze choked his vision.

Then an image sprang to his mind, the cafeteria on the first day when she looked up from the text message on her phone and sent that sweet smile across the room.

A smile warmer than the sun on a winter day.

Shooting to his feet, Akira grabbed Mishima by the shoulders and spun him around, forcing him to look in his eyes. “No, Mishima. You didn’t do this. Kamoshida did. _He_ was the one who turned his fists on the students. _He_ was the one who savaged you _and_ her.”

His knees quivered. “But I—”

Akira slammed Mishima against the air conditioning unit behind, anger at himself and anger at the world lending him strength. “No, look at me!” He held steady until the class representative looked at him through glistening eyes. “Say it with me. Kamoshida hit you.”

Voice cracking, Mishima said, “Kamoshida hit you.”

Akira relaxed his iron grip on the shorter boy’s shoulders, closed his eyes, then took a deep breath and opened them. “Kamoshida hit me.”

Tone confused, Mishima parroted, “Kamoshida hit me.”

“Kamoshida hit Shiho.”

Mishima blubbered, “But I—”

Akira thumped Mishima into the roof-top equipment again. “_Kamoshida_ hit Shiho.”

Mishima’s voice cracked, “Kamoshida hit Shiho.”

“And I will not commit the sin of taking my own life.”

Mishima blinked. “But Shiho—”

Snarling, Akira pushed Mishima against the towering AC unit. “Is still fighting for her life. But even if she wasn’t, you should be for yours.”

Lip quivering, Mishima grabbed the transfer student’s coat back. “I don’t deserve—”

Akira pulled Mishima up to push him against the bulky metal unit again. “Suicide is a sin! You’re still alive, and that _must_ mean God’s got something important for you in this life.”

Chin still trembling, tears dripped down Mishima’s face. “I don’t deserve your help. You had the strength to help everyone in Shujin even after Kamoshida leaked your record. All I did was keep my head down until it happened to Shi-chan.”

Fingers slipping from the class representative’s long-sleeved shirt, Akira stepped back.

“_I heard that guy works for the thugs in Shibuya_.”

“_Who would want to hang out with a delinquent?_”

Akira took in a breath, but his heart rate continued to climb. His body felt like it wanted to tear itself apart, and the reminder his school would never give him a moment’s rest only added to the sense of pressure. He slammed a hand onto the AC unit next to Mishima, clenching his teeth. The pulsing pain in his knuckles shot clarity through his system. “Then you atone. _Do_ something.” He lifted his left sleeve above the elbow to give Mishima a good look at an arm marred with thin, faded scars. “I know most of them aren’t easy to make out, but you see these?”

Mishima nodded.

Akira paused. He never showed anybody these scars before. Scars meant you screwed up, but he already crossed the point of no return. “Not all of these were inflicted by other people. This one,” he pointed to a thin, pale line going from just below his wrist to the inner elbow, “was when I only wanted to get away from my old bastard. I woke up in the hospital and met Father Motoori.”

The class representative leaned against the AC unit, his eyes falling to his shoes.

Several moments of silence passed before Akira pulled his sleeve back down. “This life we have isn’t free. Remember what I said last time?”

Mishima breathed for several long seconds, his rhythm hitching once before he closed his eyes. “Take my feelings, gather them, and _use_ them.”

Akira clapped his hands on Mishima’s shoulders, giving a triumphant smile bearing teeth. “Yes!”

Mishima steadied under the transfer student’s hands. After several seconds, he looked up but couldn’t quite meet the other’s eyes. “I… I have to earn this.”

Akira let go. “That’s my Mishima-kun.”

Wednesday, 27 April 2016  
Lunchtime  
Shujin, Class 2-D

The final bell rang and the math teacher gave up trying to control the students’ conversations. Ann twirled her pen through her fingers, antsy to get Akira and Morgana alone so they could talk about what happened. With Kamoshida’s confession, there was no doubt they did something significant.

Jamming her lesson plan for the day in her binder, Usami-sensei glanced up at the board scribbled with math diagrams intended to hold the class’s attention. She let out a quick breath, then lifted her binder. “Class representative, clean this up.”

Mishima stood and gave a rote, “Yes professor.” The energy faded almost as soon as the class gabbing began, but at least he didn’t have the empty-as-shark-eyes look she saw on him yesterday before Akira went after him. Dark eyes didn’t belong hollow, they were meant to be deep as a cool well.

She considered snagging him for a pep talk – Mishima swallowed so much abuse to keep Shiho insulated – but discarded the idea once he began a rote but even pace to clean up the board. Ann muttered, “He’s not in a good place, but he’ll get by for now.” Friend of a friend out of mind, Ann felt her phone vibrate as soon as she got up to the front of the classroom.

Ryuji’s ID stared out at her on the group chat. [Dudes, this is totes unreal! We gotta talk with the cat.]

No sign of response from Akira, which tickled a warning sense in her brain. He was always prompt about responding at first. But since stealing Kamoshida’s Treasure, he disappeared every lunch and hardly spoke.

Sayuri, from Class 2-B, slipped in and intercepted Ann before she could get to Akira’s row. The rather plain girl bowed. “I’m so sorry I spread rumors about you, Takamaki-san! I had no idea what was really going on.”

Ann felt a nervous smile spread over her face and she tried to figure out how to get out of the fourth girl to apologize since yesterday. On the one hand, it was nice to feel vindicated. On the other, Akira looked almost done packing. “Oh… uh… you don’t have to bow and be like that.”

Sayuri held the pose anyway. “We were so horrible to you. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” She rose and shuffled out of the way when the student at the front of the row stood up, giving Ann an opening to speedwalk down to Akira.

She flashed a show smile to try to lighten the mood around the morose transfer student. “Ryuji wants to have a word with Morgana. See you at the usual place?”

Akira watched Sayuri leave and finished adjusting the books in his bag but failed to quite meet her eyes. “You were right, Ann-san. I was wrong.” His eyes fell and his shoulders slumped. “I have something I need to do.” He glanced down at his desk to the cat. “Go with them, I’ll meet up back at Leblanc.” He shouldered his school satchel and slipped out with the grace of an Olympic gymnast before she could argue.

Ann looked down at the talking cat hiding in his desk. “I wonder what’s up with him?”

Morgana’s ears drooped. “I wish I knew. I live with him and _I_ don’t know what goes through his head.”

With nothing else to do, she let the team guide into her bag and brought him up to the ceiling, pausing for another pair of apologies in the halls as she headed to the rooftop rendezvous with Ryuji. As soon as she got there, she dropped her bag to one of the spare desks. “Man, you’re heavy. I don’t know how Akira makes it look so effortless.”

Morgana’s tail drooped off the edge of the desk. “That hurts, Lady Ann!”

Ryuji, waiting ahead of her, grinned from his casual perch on another desk. “Have you been hearin’ all this? It’s like a whole different school! It’s like we changed _everyone’s_ heart. The only ones who aren’t talkin’ about Kamoshida are talkin’ about you, Ann. Looks like those weird rumors are gonna be a thing of the past.”

She felt a smile tug at her mouth, but smothered it. “I don’t care about that. Kamoshida came clean about Shiho. That’s all I wanted.” She glanced around, as if expecting Akira to pop out from behind her. He might have been able to see through her little fib, but Ryuji just grinned. Now that she had both, being vindicated from those disgusting rumors was _wonderful_.

“Yeah, sounded like that’s all Akira wanted, too.” He paused to glance at the door, then Morgana. “Where _is_ he?”

Morgana sat and curled his tail around his legs. “Akira said he had something he needed to do and ran off. He looked less down in the dumps, but something’s still definitely bothering him.”

Crossing her arms, Ann thought back. “I wonder what he meant when he said I was right before he ran off.”

Ryuji flashed a wide grin and clapped his hands together behind his head. “Well _I’m_ callin’ this tote success! One scumbag teacher down, and we didn’t even mess up his mind!”

Their guide’s gaze held at some indistinct point on the far fencing. “It’s strange, though. That castle crumbled, but Kamoshida didn’t have a mental shutdown. I was afraid something as drastic as a complete palace collapse might have done permanent damage.”

Giving a slow blink, Ryuji threw the concern behind him. “Well, we took the Treasure and ‘shida seems fine. As much as that d-bag can be.”

Morgana’s unfocused gaze held on the fence. “We persuaded the Shadow without killing it, and it went back to its real self. Maybe that’s what we need to prevent our targets from having a mental collapse.”

Ann crossed her arms and shifted her weight to her other foot, thinking back to that last, unnerving fight. “What about that sticky tar-stuff holding the crown to his head?”

Lowering his arms, Ryuji blinked. “The what?”

The cat shivered. “It was _whispering_. I could hear it when I cut it off. Near the end I wasn’t sure if I was cutting the crown away from his head, or his head away from the crown.”

Ann brushed a pigtail back over her shoulder. “Was it kind of like the masks we have?”

When Morgana failed to answer, Ryuji gave a momentary shudder. “Dude. Freaky.” He looked her in the eye. “Anyway, I thought you were as gung-ho about takin’ down Kamoshida as Akira. I’m surprised you didn’t finish him off.”

Hands clenching, she felt her heart rate kick up. “Killing him wouldn’t have done anything for Shiho. He needed to _suffer_. Now that he knows what he’s done, he’ll beg forgiveness for the rest of his life.” She forced her hands down, a cold satisfaction pooling in her gut. “There are fates worse than death.”

Ryuji paled. “Shit, dude. Ma was right when she said hell has no fury like a woman.”

A paw padding at her jacket drew her focus down to Morgana. “I think it means you’re kind at heart, Lady Ann.”

Ryuji crossed his arms and tried to look casual. “What I wanna know is why Kamoshida’s the only one with a castle?”

Morgana turned a hooded gaze to Ryuji, some sense of ‘this again’ to it. “You mean a Palace? He’s not.”

Backing up, Ryuji’s eyes went wide. “For real?”

Morgana flicked one ear. “_Anybody_ with distorted desires can have a Palace.”

Remembering earlier speculation, Ann took her left arm with her right. “Do… do you think Akira has one?”

“I think people who’ve awakened to their Persona can’t have a Palace,” Morgana answered, a glum quality to his voice that failed to soothe her concern. “To have a Persona, you have to come to an understanding… a connection with yourself. A Palace is a sign of disconnect.”

Ryuji scratched his head and growled. “Man, Akira’d probably know somethin’ about this. Why’d he have to up and ditch us today?”

Ann rolled her eyes at the childish theatrics. “We should probably lay low for a while anyway. Even if nobody else can find out what we did at his Palace, there’s a lot of rumors going around about you and him. A lot of people think you two threatened Kamoshida.”

Ryuji stood up on his feet. “The eff, man!”

Wednesday, 27 April 2016  
Afternoon  
Kanda Catholic Church

Pulling the door closed, Akira sat down on the padded stool in the Confessional booth. Although his heart had been steady when he ran from the train station, it refused to slow down now. He took a deep breath and looked at the shadows playing over the screen separating him from the priest. “Father, forgive me, for I have sinned. It has been… almost two months since my last Confession.”

Father Sugiyama’s sonorous voice floated into his half of the booth. “I am here to shepherd the flock. What troubles you, my son?”

Akira’s eyes darted and he shifted on the padded stool, trying to decide how much to say.

“I tried to kill my gym teacher.”

Once his mouth opened, words spilled from his lips and he couldn’t even try to hold them back. “The whole fucking _world_ came down on me like a sack of bricks! Same as back with that drunk prick with the stupid glasses. I’m not going around burning buildings down or robbing companies! I just wanna do the right thing. I don’t even always know what that _is_. Inuri High, my old bastard, even the bitch I saved stabbed me in the heart! The judge didn’t even go past that letter of condemnation from my old bastard before pronouncing me guilty. The _one_ person who listened to me, the _one_ idiot who encouraged me to keep trying in Tokyo was a _cop_. And then Kamoshida _raped_ the only girl in my life who was kind to me!”

“Oh my,” were the only words Father Sugiyama let slip, deep silence descending on the Confessional. Despite the concerned tone, the few words gave no clue whether the priest believed the student or not.

“I…” Akira lifted a hand, flexing his fingers and trying to reconcile the boy Officer Ichijou said could become a good man with the one who only left Kamoshida alive because his weapon ran out of ammo. “I’ve never liked who I am, but once everything with Kamoshida was done I realized I did _everything **wrong**_. Now he’s in police custody and I still can’t feel sure if that’s a good thing.”

“Well,” Father Sugiyama said after a breath, tone contemplative. “You stood beside that Takamaki girl when she was in danger. I think that means you care about the people around you.”

Akira wrapped his arms around his body. “Shiho wouldn’t have wanted me to go kill Kamoshida. I just kept on trying to push the responsibility on her so I wouldn’t have to think about it.” He grit his teeth, remembering the pain in Ann’s eyes as he tried to force them to keep going after fighting the faux angel. He felt a tear trail down his nose. “I kept pushing ahead because _I_ wanted to hurt Kamoshida for taking her away from me.” Akira ran a hand through his hair. “She wasn’t even mine to have! You should’ve seen that smile she flashed at Mishima in the cafeteria. It was soft and affectionate and grateful.” Sighing, he let the warmth of the memory wrap around him, though it felt constricting now. “No one’s ever looked at me like that. Like they want me there.”

“I think, my son, that you judge yourself too harshly.” Father Sugiyama leaned back in the booth. “Yes, wrath is a vice you grapple with, but patience is something I think you will learn if you stick close to your friends. They may have troubles of their own, but they will help you find your way. Don’t forget that you have your own strengths. I may not have known you for long, but between what Motoori has told me and what you have, you are strong in Charity.”

Snorting, Akira crossed his arms. “Father, I can’t deny I have vices, but virtues are a lie.”

Father Sugiyama retorted, “That’s your father talking.”

“That bastard is _not_ a father,” Akira snapped, rising off the stool. “He doesn’t deserve that title.”

“Then don’t be ruled by his misconceptions,” Father Sugiyama riposted. “You may have joined the Church to get away from him, but you’ve learned too much to remain smothered in his shadow.”

Akira settled back on the stool and huffed, but Father Sugiyama was right. Feeling cleansed and weary, the transfer student reached for the door. “Thank you, Father.”

“Ah-ah,” Father Sugiyama tisked. “I think you have a few Our Fathers first.”


	19. April 27th, Networking

Persona 5: Daywatch

Wednesday, 27 April 2016  
Early Evening  
Yongen, Leblanc

Slipping his hands beneath the sink’s sudsy water, his phone buzzed and Akira scrambled to dry his hands and see what the call was about. By the time he got the smart phone out, the group chat was already open and several texts blasted back and forth.

Ann began, [I went to tell Shiho about everything we did.]

Ryuji, [Awesome! What'd she say?]

Ann responded. [She's still in a coma. Her mom thanked me for the news about Kamoshida's confession. She was on the phone as I left. I bet she's planning on suing him.]

Akira brought up the keyboard to shoot out, [Serves that bastard right. He made that mess, he should pay for it.]

[What about you?] Ann texted. [You left in a big hurry.]

Akira paused to decide how to answer. [I've been carrying around too much baggage and I needed to talk to Father Sugiyama. Went to Confession for the first time since the incident with that woman and the drunk.]

Ryuji’s ID popped up, three dancing dots indicating a message in progress for several seconds before he sent, [Hey, maybe we could change that drunk asshole's heart.]

Scoffing, Akira replied, [Why bother? He's probably some rich corporate industrialist who just can't handle his booze. I never even got his name.]

Ryuji passed that concern like a champ. [Oh, thought you might want to know. Lots of people at Shujin were talking about the calling cards, but almost everyone thinks it was just some prank from someone spying on Kamoshida.]

Akira shifted to lean his hip against the counter, remembering the easy banter between the others when they got out of the Palace. [What about that medal? Morgana said it wasn't Kamoshida's real medal, but I'd rather not leave it hanging around. I'm the 'keep memories, not mementos' kind of guy.]

Ann sent back with remarkable speed, [Let's sell it and have a celebration. Showa Day's coming up on Friday. Or we could have it at the end of Golden Week to charge us up for school!]

Akira typed out, [Or we could divide it into savings.]

Ryuji’s next text came almost immediately. [Dude, can't you see the mood's heading to party town? You especially need to live it up!]

Morgana, reading from the stool, preempted Akira’s retort. “Ryuji’s got a point. You have a tendency to bottle everything up. You need to loosen up once in a while.” The metaverse guide smiled. “And what better than to celebrate a job well done? Discussions among Phantom Thieves deserve to be held over the delicacies of luxury.”

Akira huffed, but sent out, [Fine. I can see when I'm out voted. Where would we go? Ramen?]

[No way,] Ryuji shot back. [We can do that any time! It's gotta be something special. Especially since that medal should be worth thirty thousand yen.]

Ann texted with lightning speed. [I know just the place. You can even pay me back what you owe me from middle school.]

Ryuji wasted no time to protest, [No way I owe you thirty thousand!]

[Plus compounded interest…]

Akira chuckled. “There’s a story there.” He tapped away, [Focus, peeps. I'm up for Showa Day, any of you working then?]

[I’m good,] Ryuji returned.

Ann took a few seconds. [Nothing on the calendar from my agency.]

Akira shot out, [So where would we go?]

Silence held the group chat for a while before Ann answered. [There's a place Shiho and I have been wanting to go.]

Another second passed where Akira imagined a mournful sigh before Ryuji assented. [Well, I guess I do owe you, so I'll let you pick it.]

[Send me a text with the address and prices,] Akira sent out.

[Will do,] She answered.

Morgana flicked his tail. “But will the guy at the second hand shop down the corner buy those koban? He didn’t have any jewelry or gold things hanging up.”

Akira slipped the phone back in his pocket and returned to the sink. “And I don’t want to unload much loot somewhere so close to where I live. But I bet he does know someone who’ll buy. There’s gotta be plenty of fences in Tokyo.”

Wednesday, 27 April 2016  
Night  
Velvet Room

Akira opened his eyes with a gasp, greeted by dark velvet and a striped white-and-black uniform over his body. He let out a long breath and slumped against the slab as his racing heart slowed, fragments of a dream with Shiho echoing in his skull. The image of Shiho in nothing but Shujin’s tight, red gym shorts, her arms bent at weird angles still had his panic response on overdrive. Akira pushed himself to his feet and looked around. After seeing Shiho splayed over the ground, the sight of a steel bunk and toilet seemed calming in comparison. Blue velvet carpeted the walls. Chains criss-crossed a door of iron bars.

“Congratulations,” a deep voice slid smooth as silk from the center of the panopticon, “thief of hearts.”

Hands still shaking from his prior dream, Akira kicked at the door. A ball weight on the chain he forgot was on his foot tripped him and he fell against the bars.

Justine snickered.

Heart still pounding from seeing Shiho broken on the ground, Akira turned his ire on her and drew his hands into fists. “I thought I told you I’m not a thief.”

Caroline slammed her baton against the door, the metal ringing. “Shut your ungrateful mouth and listen, Inmate!”

Igor looked as unperturbed as ever as he capped a fancy-looking fountain pen. A hollow glass orb on a cylinder sat on the table just next to him. Six large iron needles thrusted down through holes in the cylinder, holding up a handful of marbles inside. “You have a special power, but it must be refined if you wish to use it to prevent the coming ruin. This shall be the rehabilitation you shall strive towards.”

Akira banged a fist on the door and snarled, “I did it once, didn’t I? I’ll tear the evil out of human hearts, one bastard at a time.”

Igor chuckled.

Justine shifted her clipboard to her other hand. “Do not look with narrow vision, Inmate, or you will miss important opportunities. The strength of many can cover the limitations of the one.”

“A single man can do almost anything if he is willing to sacrifice anything, including himself,” Igor said, his deep tone sedate but with an undertone of mirth for no reason Akira could guess. He clapped. “But you have chosen to bring others into your quest. What shape shall that take, hm?”

The short wanna-be-warden with a braid continued. “Cultivate every relationship you can.”

Looking down at the diminutive twins calling themselves wardens, he couldn’t hold in a laugh. “What do I need more power for? I took out Kamoshida, didn’t I?”

Igor nodded and folded his hands together. “True, but not alone. You are already seeking out fellow thieves.”

Caroline wagged her baton at Akira. “Those will be extra sources of power, Inmate.”

Igor’s wider-than-needed grin returned. “It is through contracts you gain the power to oppose impending ruin. Certainly a triumph to celebrate.”

Akira gripped the bars and glared straight at Igor’s unnatural calm. “How can you say that with the same toneless cool as a newscaster announcing mass casualties in an Indian riot?”

Caroline clanged her baton against the door. “Be grateful when our master deigns to pass words of praise on you!”

A beat passed before Igor added, “You have taken your first step into a more magnificent world. It shall be _quite_ interesting to see where your path leads.”

Thursday, 28 April 2016  
Early Morning  
Yongen, Leblanc

Sojiro paused behind the counter, looking down at Akira as he sat in a chair in the middle of the bar. “You sure look tired. Didn’t you sleep?”

“I’m fine,” Akira grumped.

Shrugging, the restaurateur set a plate of curry down in front of Akira. “They had a school on the news yesterday.” He crossed his arms as if expecting something earlier and it being denied him. “Some teacher abusing students.”

“Kamoshida,” Akira said before digging into the curry.

Sojiro sighed and uncrossed his arms. “Look, just try to keep your head down. You’ve heard the old saying, nails that stick out—”

“Get hammered. Yeah, I know.”

Thursday, 28 April 2016  
After School  
Yongen, Backstreets

A siren wailed in the distance, a gentle breeze blowing through the narrow streets of Yongen. The old man in his second-hand shop hummed and turned over the rounded gold coin in his fingers. “It’s certainly a koban, probably a Genbu koban judging by the size, but it’s also pretty badly damaged. I can’t even be sure if it’s a genuine article or one of the counterfeits made by smaller smithies later in the period.” He glanced up at Akira, something about his gaze seeming not quite focused. “Where’d you say you got these?”

“Internet,” Akira said. “I bought a bunch of lockboxes from online auctions. I figured these looked like real gold coins.”

Hiromasa turned the coin over again. “Well, the gold’s real enough, but I’m afraid I couldn’t sell something like this.” He lifted his arm at the hanging lamps around him. “I tend to go through instruments, small furniture or appliances. Things you can _use_. I may have been a coin collector by hobby, but I stay away from trading jewelry or coins at work. Too easy to get caught up in fakes.”

Letting out a heavy breath, Akira rubbed his shoulder. “I suspected something like that. Nobody else in the area is interested in coins without a certificate of authenticity. Tokyo’s too big a place for me to go hunting for a buyer for things like this or jewelry or whatever else the next lockbox might have.”

Hiromasa set the koban on a stack with the other four. “Well, I don’t know how much business he’ll be willing to do, and you may have to do a favor or two for him before he trusts you, but I happen to know a fellow in Shibuya who seems to be able to sell anything. Doesn’t ask too many questions either, which should be perfect if your boxes don’t have those certificate things.”

Akira brightened. “Really? That would be _great_.” He recorded the address info, but paused at the mark on his map of Shibuya. “That’s not too far off Central Street. Almost sounds familiar.”

Hiromasa shrugged at the transfer student’s muttering. “Owner’s there almost every day but Sunday, you just have to catch him without any other customers around if you want to make your sale. Tell him Hiromasa recommended you.”

Akira checked the time and slipped his phone in his pocket. “I better hurry if I’m gonna check it out today. Thanks.” He took three of the koban, then walked away.

Thursday, 28 April 2016  
Early Evening  
Shibuya, Untouchable

A hot, humid breeze blew through the back streets of Shibuya. Akira looked up at the clouds turning gold and purple in the sinking sunlight, and down at his phone with the directions from the second-hand shop owner. He looked up at the last stretch, a familiar alley ahead of him. He was about to ask Morgana if this was the same place Ryuji brought them when he heard two adults skulking in the shadows to one side.

“Let’s just take care of this,” said one in a crisp, light grey suit.

The other man, wearing a neat, tan suit looking out of place in a shadowed back alley, stared at his phone and whispered, “We don’t have the warrant yet. Let’s not threaten the case by jumping the gun.”

Maintaining a steady walking pace past them, Akira came to Untouchable, his navigator pointing straight at its door. “Well, son of a—”

Morgana poked his head out of the bag. “At least we’re here. Let’s get inside and finish before those weird guys notice us. The sooner we finish and get back home, the sooner you can throw away your leftovers.”

Akira swallowed the angry lump in his throat and pushed the door open.

The store owner in a long coat looked up from a sporting goods magazine. “You again? I have to admit, you didn’t strike me as a big enthusiast last time.”

Akira pointed his thumb over his shoulder at the door. “Fuzz are outside, overheard one mention waiting on a warrant.”

Grimacing, Long Coat shot to his feet. “Excuse me a second.” He took long strides to the back. Rustling, then the bang of something metallic falling to the concrete floor rang out. After about a minute, he returned, holding a brown paper bag. “You got two thousand yen?”

“Yeah?” Akira looked at him askance.

Long Coat set the paper bag in the square hole in the grating across the counter. “Here, hand it over. I can even make change, I just need the cameras to show an exchange.”

Akira eyed the shop owner for a moment, then pulled out his wallet. “I came here to sell, not buy. Hiromasa recommended you.”

A momentary flash passed through Long Coat’s eyes, but his face stayed grim. “Tell ‘ya what, you come back tonight and I’ll buy whatever it is. Just help me out now. Take it and go, just don’t open it until you come back.”

Akira pulled out two thousand-yen bills.

Still tucked in the satchel, Morgana hissed, “Akira, what are you doing?”

Akira set the bills on the counter and slid them in, then took the paper bag as the shop-owner pulled out one thousand yen in coins. “This is only—”

The door opened and the two men in suits walked in.

Akira took the bag, coins, and slipped them into his satchel, then settled it on his shoulders and waved at the shop-owner to keep up the act. “Thanks.”

Long Coat nodded back, his smile stiff. “Pleasure doing business with you again. Come back soon.”

The stern detective in a nice business suit made a beeline for the counter. “Iwai Munehisa?” He drew his badge fold from his coat. “We have a few questions we’d like to ask.”

“Exit, stage left,” Akira muttered as he headed for the door.

The detective in a grey suit stepped into Akira’s path. “Hold up, you little shit. What’s in the bag?”

Akira adjusted his glasses with his middle finger. “Schoolbooks, Prick-san.”

Stomping into Akira’s face, Grey Suit reached down for the satchel. “That’s it, you fuckin’ delinquent.”

“Hey!” Morgana popped out and swiped at the detective’s hand.

Grey Suit jerked his hand away, a vein on his forehead pulsing.

Iwai stood up. “Hey, detectives, if you’ve got a search or somethin’ to conduct, my store’s open. You can check the tapes if you want. But I’d appreciate if you wouldn’t go harassing the clientele. That kind of thing tends to get reported to Internal Affairs.”

Grey Suit snarled at Iwai. “Bastard.” When Akira tried to take a step around, he stepped back in the way. “We have a warrant, and you tryin’ ta leave with a brown sack right as we come in is plenty for probable cause.”

He reached for Akira’s shoulder, but Akira danced out of the way. “Keep your dirty paws off me.”

Morgana shuffled in the satchel. “I resent that remark!”

Akira slung his school satchel down to his elbow. “Here. Try using words like an adult next time.” He pulled out a crumpled brown sack.

Iwai clenched his fists.

Grey Suit opened the bag so fast it tore. He jerked his face away and held the bag away as if it contained a rotting head. “Ugh, natto.”

Akira smirked. “Fermented beans, a healthy part of an afternoon meal.”

Grey Suit growled but handed the bag back to Akira. “I think your natto’s past its expiration. And I wouldn’t go for that soda half-covered in it either.”

Akira snatched the torn paper bag and looked inside. “You broke my natto?”

Iwai snickered.

Grey Suit stepped away from the door, a snarl on his face. “Just get out, you little shit.”

Brown Suit rolled his eyes. “Enough with the kid. The tip said Iwai had contraband in the back.”

Iwai gave a pointed smile. “You gotta do what you gotta do, Detective-san. You got a warrant?”

Brown Suit presented his smart phone. “We’ll have a printed copy down here if you require it.”

Iwai read for a moment, then handed the phone back. “I’m good. Aren’t upstandin’ citizens supposed to cooperate with the Law?”

Grey Suit stepped up to the window and slammed a fist down on the counter. “Watch that attitude!”

Akira slipped out the front door and threw the lunch bag with natto away.

The instant the door closed, Morgana poked his head up out of the satchel, eyes narrow. “What do you think you’re _doing_? We came here to _get_ money.”

“It’s called networking,” Akira said, stepping around a fallen bicycle. “Iwai owes us.”

Morgana sat down, ears flat against his head. “You’d better hope he’s really that fence we were looking for.” He ducked down into the satchel and a crinkling of paper sounded. “What’s in this bag, anyway?”

Akira shook his shoulders to jostle Morgana. “Hey, not here in the open.” He stepped out to central street proper and grimaced at the crowds heading left and right on the street. “Well, might as well hit the diner for some studying.”

Morgana grumbled. “With what? You gave most of your money to that gun store owner.”

“I can still get a cup of lame coffee for less than a thousand yen.”

Thursday, 28 April 2016  
Evening  
Shibuya, Untouchable

Akira pushed open the door and shuddered against the heavy air conditioning. He walked in the model gun and military surplus store, noting Iwai straighten behind the counter.

Iwai sniffed, eyes narrowing but one corner of his mouth quirking up. “Well, you’re back sooner than I thought.”

Slipping his hands into his pockets, Akira trotted to the counter window. “I don’t scare easy. Everyone I know would tell me I’ve got more guts than brains.” He unslung his school satchel and reached in for a stained hand cloth, then set it on the counter and unfolded the tied cloth package. “I understand you wanted to buy this.”

Iwai adjusted the brim of his cap, looking down at the Olympic gold medal. “You sure don’t waste any time.”

“Your time is valuable,” Akira responded, standing straight. “So is mine. And those fake silencers you handed me in the bag with the fake gun.”

Iwai chuckled. “So you looked inside.”

Akira set his satchel on the ground, letting Morgana hop out to scout the front area of the store. He brought out the paper bag Iwai gave him earlier and set it on the counter. “I’ve played the mule before, but I’m not stupid.”

Iwai picked up the medal and flipped it to look at the reverse. “I seem to remember hearin’ about some teacher who used to be an Olympic athlete gettin’ in trouble. This wouldn’t happen to be hot goods, would it?”

Eyes narrowing, Akira let his fists curl. “I am _not_ a thief.” He crossed his arms, searching his memory for what Ryuji claimed it was worth. “So how’s thirty thousand yen?”

Iwai set the paper bag behind the counter, tossed the stained hand cloth aside and set the medal in the middle of the counter, then took out his phone and took a picture of it. He tapped away at his smart phone for a few moments, then read for about a minute. “How’s twenty…” Iwai looked up at the transfer student. “You know what? You were pretty quick on the uptake today. Clever about that switch, too. You got your thirty thousand yen.” He opened the cash register, counted out a hefty stack, then handed over the yen notes and closed the register.

Akira took them. There was networking to do. “So are we just leaving things here?”

Iwai smirked and scanned Akira’s face and stance. After a moment, the shop owner stood. “Why don’t we talk in the back?” He stepped away, then a clunk sounded and the heavy steel door in the back marked STAFF swung open. Akira followed him into what looked like a craft shop with plastic storage bins cramming two walls. Iwai dropped his show smile and stopped at the corner, then crossed his arms and looked over the transfer student again. “So what’s your angle?”

“I’m no friend of the fuzz.” Akira slipped his hands into his pockets and leaned against a steel shelf laden with plastic bins. “Think of me as a concerned enthusiast.”

Iwai chuckled. “Well, you’ve got guts and you’ve got wiles, I gotta give ya that. You lookin’ to offload more… _found_ items or were you tryin’ for some of those customizations you heard me mention to Little Man?”

“Both,” Akira said as he glanced around for some sign of Morgana. “You heard anything about the drug trade in the area?”

Frowning, Iwai’s crossed arms tightened. “I wouldn’t touch that shit with a five meter pole.” He sat down on a stool in front of a workbench with several power tools scattered across it and let out a heavy breath. “Listen, I’m not a bad dude. Sure, I’ve been known to compromise – I mean, I gotta look out for my own. That may mean I’ll come across hot items, but there are some lines I don’t cross whether it’s China White or pills that ‘fell off the back of the truck’.”

Akira held up his hands. “I’m not sayin’ you’re involved, I just wanted to know what’s up here in Shibuya. One of my friends is caught up and I need to help find a way out.” He looked over Iwai, noting none of the tell-tale signs of lying. He seemed as trustworthy as a shady shop owner could be. “I think we can make a deal.”

Iwai chuckled, a thin smile forming. “You’re not bluffin’. Okay. I can only move so much merchandise at a time, so I can’t exactly buy anything else like that medal for a few days, but if you want to purchase some more model guns or modify the ones you got, I can help you out.” He straightened his cap. “But you gotta help me out, too. It may involve more quick hands and quick thinkin’ like today.”

Akira straightened. “Even angels have been known to use darkness.”

Iwai’s smile widened. “Heh. You get it, kid. I think this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Here, give me your number and I’ll give you a ring if another job comes up.”


	20. April 28th, Buffet Celebration

Persona 5: Daywatch

Thursday, 28 April 2016  
Late Evening  
Yongen-Jaya Station

The announcer blared another update about the train schedule from the loudspeakers. Already at his last stop for the day, Akira ignored it and stepped out of the train with the rare sensation of having enough room to breathe. He paced through the faded tile to the street. The sun already fallen behind the towers and mountains, the sky above darkened to a black with the brightest stars fighting for visibility through Tokyo’s light pollution.

His phone rang before he even got out to the street proper. Grimacing, he stepped into a nook with a utility pole to get away from the flow of people. Opening the call without checking who it was, he threw out his usual gag opening. “Faye Kinnit’s taxidermy emporium, your one-stop shop for cliché villains.”

After snorting in amusement, Ann’s excited voice floated out of the speaker against his ear. “Hi, Akira-kun. Have you seen the news?”

Frown fading, he slumped against the concrete pole. “To be honest, I don’t tend to watch the TV news. They tend to be several days behind.”

Ann shot back with a snappy disapproval. “That’s no reason not to be informed. Lots of stations have been playing stories about Kamoshida. Lots of people have come out about him. It’s… a lot bigger than I thought.”

Akira’s eyes fell to the street, Mishima’s bruised face conjuring in his mind’s eye. “Yeah. I had tunnel vision.”

A beat passed before she spoke again, concern and empathy in her voice. He could imagine her reaching out for him if she was on the street next to him. “I think we helped those people speak out. It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

Wondering what Shiho would have thought, if she would have smiled or been disappointed, Akira’s shoulders fell. “Sure.”

As if she could see his melancholy, Ann’s tone picked up a chipper quality he couldn’t determine as real or faked. “I’d say we earned a celebration. You pawn off the medal?”

“I just finished. Got your text about the address and prices, too.”

When she spoke next, the pleased tone sounded genuine. “Great! See you in front of Shibuya Station at noon.”

Morgana popped out of his school satchel as Akira put the phone away. “Hey, we’re about to celebrate. No grousing.”

Showa Day. Friday, 29 April 2016  
Afternoon  
Wilton Hotel Buffet

Akira slipped in to the sofa near the middle of the dining area of the buffet. The pleasant, just-brighter-than-mood-lighting made it easy to take in the foods. Each of them looked well-prepared, and smelled even better. As much as he didn’t like the glitzy ambiance of the place and its staff, the taste and texture were every bit as good as Ann promised.

After cutting a piece of white fish and setting it on a coffee saucer for Morgana, Akira pulled out his phone and ate with one hand while managing his continuing shogi game with the other. “There’s tons of rumors out there about Kamoshida, but nothing about the drug trade going on here in Shibuya. I’m starting to think I’d be better off following one of those shady guys offering ‘easy’ jobs.”

Ryuji looked up from a hunk of roast beef. “Man, ya gotta leave the business at the door. This is a victory party!” He leaned in for another bite and moaned in pleasure at the meat. “Oh, it melts in my mouth.”

Morgana snapped at a piece of fish threatening to fall from the corner of his mouth. “Indeed. After all the trials we’ve been through, this little band I pulled together deserves some rest and relaxation.”

Beaming, Ann swallowed a big bite of some fancy chocolate cream pie. “Did I choose good or did I choose good?”

Akira gave a one-shouldered shrug, head still abuzz. “It’s a good place. I’m still a little worried about Kamoshida. Police started interviewing people at school. It looks more thorough than cursory questioning of the teachers. Mishima even said he got called up after school.”

“But everyone’s pumped up!” Ryuji protested, a sliver of meat stuck between his front teeth. “We got guys talkin’ about how the Phantom Thief stole his heart.” His smile widened. “It’s so awesome!” Diving in for a piece of roast beef, he took a big bite and pulled out his phone, saying something through a full mouth.

Ann recoiled. “Ugh, Ryuji! That’s disgusting.”

Ryuji hurried to chew and swallow, navigated to a site, then held out his phone. “We’ve gotta be big shots, we even got our own website!”

Alarm bells buzzing, Akira took the phone and closed his shogi game to bring it up on his own browser app. “The Phantom Aficionado Website?” Finding it, he handed back Ryuji’s phone and read the first comments up. “‘Thank you for giving us hope,’ ‘I thought I was trapped and nobody could help me. Thank you for stopping him.’” He handed his phone to Ann so she could browse. His shoulders felt even heavier. “I can’t believe I was so selfish. I thought I was _different_ than my parents.”

“I was in the same place, Akira-kun,” Ann consoled. “I wanted to deal with my own problems so much, I didn’t even see how bad things were getting for everyone else.”

Ryuji swallowed and held a hand in the air. “Guys, this is a party! Kamoshida confessed an’ it’s like some evil presence was taken away from the school. Now I know what those soldiers felt like in all those videos in history class with people wavin’ flags all up an’ down the road. Sure, not everyone believes it, but so many of ‘em are grateful.” He let out a rumbling belch, then clutched his stomach. “Oh, gotta hit the bathroom.”

Akira slapped his palm to his face, trying not to count the fourteen people who looked in their direction. Desperate for some distraction, he looked to the part-time model. “Do you mind if I ask how Shiho was?”

Ann’s fork slowed its work carving up her pie. “She’s still in a coma, but the doctors said that she’s healing very well.” Her eyes fell to Akira’s phone and the Phansite on it, then she set it back on the table and slid it over to him. “I just have to hold on to hope that she’ll wake up.” Her eyes swung back up to him. “What about Mishima? I saw you follow him out after Kamoshida confessed.”

Akira swallowed a bite of spiced rice. “He was about to jump, too. Blamed himself for Shiho’s suicide attempt. I managed to talk him out of it. Has he been up to visit Shiho?”

Ann shook her head, then lifted a new bite of chocolate cream. “It’s strange. He was head over heels for her. When I used to stop by Shiho’s, sometimes he’d be there. They’d just sit there, arm in arm, playing with each other’s hair.” Her shoulders drew up and stress lines wrote over her face. “To be honest, I was jealous. Most boys are intimidated by me, so I’ve never had a boyfriend. I know plenty of guys ogle me, but sometimes it’s hard to imagine just sitting next to a boyfriend of my own just playing around with my hair.”

Morgana looked up from the picked-over fish bones on his plate. “Hey, hey! No heavy stuff at a victory party. This is a celebration of changing Kamoshida’s heart. We went in to the unknown, and succeeded beyond all expectations!”

Ann forced a smile. “You’re right. After all, who knows when I’ll be able to enjoy the Wilton Hotel cake buffet again?” With that, she dug in to the remainder of her chocolate-cream pie.

Akira finished his rice and added it to the stack. “Well, I’m on to the next plate.”

Ann swallowed a large helping of chocolate. “You know you can actually fill a plate, right?”

He flashed her a smile. “And let the food touch?” His smile took the sharpness of a smirk. “I would never do such a dirty thing.” He stood and proceeded to the rice and meat tables at the buffet.

While picking over the last morsel of meat to add, an overweight, greying man in a mild blue suit laughed at his assistant. “The Phantom Thief? Phaha! Just rumors made up by school kids. Still, it gets website hits and that means advertising revenue, so who cares if it’s true?”

Akira returned, set Morgana’s old saucer on a stack, then set some meat down for him on a new saucer. As the transfer student ate, he pulled out his phone to read more comments on the phantom-aficionado site.

‘_Now I can keep going, too_.’

‘_The rumors made me scared for my girlfriend, but now she’s finally talking to me and it looks like everything will be all right_.’

Akira swallowed his bite of ham. “I can’t believe so many people posted here. How long was the shadow cast by Kamoshida?”

Ann looked up from her cheesecake, the wreckage remaining of her chocolate pie on another plate pushed to the side.

Akira felt his lips quirk. “You’re not worried about calories?”

Ann’s brows furrowed but her cheeks tinged an adorable pink. “When am I ever going to have the chance to do this again?” She resumed digging into her cheesecake and the two ate in silence for a while. Finishing it, she shoved her latest plate aside and hopped up to weave her way through the crowd to the dessert buffet.

Another woman backed up from the meat table to the desserts, chatting with another woman next to her. Keeping her eyes on her friend, she laughed and turned, arm holding her plate going wide and hitting Ann. A gasp rang out, letting go of her plate on noticing Ann. The jostled plate hit the floor with a shattering of ceramic. “Stupid girl! Look what you did!”

Ann gasped, the surprise visible even from her distance. “_You’re_ the one who walked into _me_.”

The short-haired woman next to her sneered at Ann. “This is why they shouldn’t allow _children_ into classy establishments.” She and the woman responsible power-walked off.

Ann sighed and flicked flecks of food off her jacket and glanced around. Her eyes met several cold, reproving looks before she paced around the spilt food and an employee with a broom and sweep-bin closed on the mess. Returning, she plopped into her chair, her posture heavier than before.

Akira lowered the hand holding his phone. “Ignore her. That bint ran into _you_. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

She took a deep breath in, then out, but relaxed a little on the breath out. She cut into her carrot cake with far more force than the slice required. “But… did you see the way all of those restaurant workers looked at me?”

Akira paused with his fork halfway through a slab of ham. “Sycophants and simpering cowards. You don’t need their approval. They should be asking _yours_.”

Ann gave an awkward smile, but it faded in moments. She stared down at her two slices of cake. “Do you think we’re out of place?”

“Honestly?” Akira swallowed, going silent and setting his phone down on the table. “Ann-san, I feel out of place wherever I go. When I’m at church with people like Togo-san or Father Sugiyama, I feel like some Viking barbarian surrounded by enlightened monks untouched by the dirty underside of life. I felt like a clumsy nerd at basketball club in Inuri, but a stupid jock in math class. And in Ushimaru’s class I feel like a college student stuck in remedial civics.”

She chuckled and swallowed another bite of carrot cake. “I think he does that to all of us. I heard he loved repeating the point back in my first year at Shujin.”

He stabbed another bite of ham. “But we still earned our seats here. We have the same right to enjoy this buffet that they do.”

The transfer student recognized the blond head and angry stomping even before Ryuji made it back and threw himself into his overstuffed chair. “Goddamn assholes!”

“Ryuji,” Akira sighed, “calm down. What happened?”

“I was comin’ back from the bathrooms and this big-shot dickhead surrounded by suits had his puppets shove me out of the way and he waltzed into my elevator. He didn’ apologize or nothin’. Talked about me like I was some little _kid_ in a _daycare_.” He took a fork and stabbed onto his plate of meat, causing a metallic squeal. “I wish that selfish shithead had a Palace.”

Morgana looked up from licking off his saucer. “He _might_.”

Ann’s eyes widened, then locked onto their compatriot locked in cat form. “You said something like that earlier. You’re sure Kamoshida wasn’t the only one with a castle?”

“Anyone with a strong, distorted desire could have a Palace.”

Ryuji straightened. “Wait, you think they’d have a crown and would change if we stole it?”

Morgana shot him a hooded gaze. “Ryuji, each person’s Treasure would be different.” His eyes narrowed in thought, ears twisting one way, then another. “But… if it worked with Kamoshida, it should work the same with anybody else.”

Akira took his phone back in hand. “Was it the treasure, or convincing the Shadow that made him have the change of heart?”

Ann swallowed a bite of cheesecake. “Huh, that’s true. We didn’t just steal Kamoshida’s treasure. We defeated the Shadow and convinced him to change.” She brought up the phansite on her phone, then looked up to Morgana. “All those people who had no choice but to deal with Kamoshida are thanking us.”

“Yeah, yeah!” Ryuji agreed. “So I was thinkin’.”

Akira paused, shredded beef halfway to his mouth. “Dangerous words.”

Ryuji glared. “Dude, shut up. Anyway, why stop here? If there’s this many people we helped out with Kamoshida, just think…” He looked around, his eyes roving over the room for long seconds before stopping on Akira. He spoke, voice low, “…like, how many people we’d have goin’ ‘go Phantom Thief’ if we took out this drug ring you’re lookin’ for?”

Ann looked up from her creamy cheesecake. “I get what you’re saying… but you really think we should go after a drug gang?”

Akira looked up from the page of comments on the Phansite. “Wait, after all those times we barely made it through Kamoshida’s castle, you guys _want_ to go after the drug kingpin?” He gestured the hand with his smartphone in it at Morgana. “He and I are at it because he’s still trying to restore his human form and I need to pay him back. You guys already dealt with Kamoshida, you don’t need to jump back into danger.”

Ann gave him a narrowed glance. “Well, Kamoshida didn’t remember anything about what we did in the Palace. Wouldn’t the same thing apply to the next palace?”

Morgana smiled. “Lady Ann’s right. The Palace and a Shadow self might be connected to the person’s conscious self, but it isn’t directly the consciousness. They shouldn’t be aware of anything we do in the Palace.”

Ryuji sat back in his chair. “Sounds like no downside to me. I say we do it. Let’s take down more of these shitty adults.”

Ann swallowed another bite from her cake. “If I just sat back and did nothing but take care of myself, I’d fall back into the same me who let those bad things happen. I don’t want that to happen.”

Morgana licked his lips and smiled. “Well, you may be fledglings, but if you’re all on board I think I can lend you my brilliance. We’ll just need to collect some intelligence and practice so we’re ready for the next palace.”

Ryuji threw a fist into the air. “All right, we’ll take the world by surprise!”

Ann carved a big chunk out of her remainder of carrot cake, but paused to look at Akira. “Well, going after the drug ring was your idea. You want to be the leader?”

Ryuji slouched against his seat and jabbed for another bite of beef. “Sounds good to me. Responsibility’s not my thing.”

Akira held up a palm. “No.”

Ryuji’s eyes widened. “What? Why not?”

“_Every_ choice I made in the castle was the wrong one. I tried to charge on when we were spent. Twice.” He glanced to Morgana. “I moved on to the Training Hall of Love when we knew you should’ve checked in.” Akira sighed, his shoulders slumping, his tone and volume down. “I didn’t even go after Kamoshida to change his heart, I wanted to kill him.” He peered up at Ann. “You were right. I was wrong.”

Ann’s mood took a similar turn for the crestfallen. “I was only able to do any of that because you were already out there. You stood up against that knight before you even had a Persona. And you’re even doing stuff outside the Metaverse, like finding us that doctor. I want to help all I can, but sometimes I think I’m overwhelmed just trying to keep up at the agency and school.”

“Yeah, man,” Ryuji added, already spearing fork to meat. “I mean, who else would be our fearless leader? Morgana? He’d be out as soon as the Shadows threw catnip.”

Morgana growled. “I am _not_ a cat!” He looked up at Akira. “But Lady Ann is right. You’re not just tenacious, you’re almost as clever as me and you not only found that doctor, you found a fence that we can do business with again.”

Akira rubbed his shoulder and picked his fork back up from his plate. “Those were just luck. I’m sure Ryuji would’ve done the same thing.”

Ryuji smirked. “Hey, I may not be stupid, but a man’s gotta know his limits. Even while you’re up front, you’re thinkin’ and watchin’. When that Shadow transformed into monster-shida, you were on it before it even finished. I’d rather have a fearless leader than fish-chaser.”

“Hey!”

Akira swirled a piece of ham around his plate. “There’s another word for a person without fear: stupid.”

Ann’s shoulders squared. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. All the rest of us look up to you, and you’re really reliable.”

Akira picked up the bite, but stared at the cut of ham. “I’m not reliable.” His eyes slid to their guide trapped in a cat’s body. “But I can think of someone who is.”

Muffled sounds and a fleck of sauce sailed at Akira from Ryuji’s open mouth. The track star’s words may have been obliterated by roast beef, but his intentions were not.

“Ryuji, finish chewing and think about this with a little perspective.” Akira set down his fork. “He is our team expert on the Metaverse.”

Swallowing, the athlete stabbed his fork into a mound of meat on his plate. “He said himself he don’t remember everything! An’ don’t forget about how he went all catnip-weird when we found the Treasure.”

Morgana and Ann both grimaced.

Akira sat further forward on the couch next to Morgana, his glasses magnifying his narrowed gaze. “He led us out of the castle safely _every_ time. Hell, he’s the only one who can _sense_ the Treasure. He knew what to do to get the Treasure to manifest. He helped us write a _sensible_ calling card. In every fight we had he kept his wits and was the _only_ one who figured out to cut the crown off Kamoshida’s head. He had the right strategy and brought us up to speed when he could’ve left us to walk into our own deaths in that castle. He went out of his way to help us.” Taking a moment to reign in his breathing, the transfer student sat back on the couch and straightened. “Shiho would be ashamed of me, and for good reason. I vote for Morgana as leader. It’s the only right vote.”

Ann looked back and forth between Ryuji and Akira before swallowing a mouthful of cake. “Hard to argue with that. Make my vote for Morgana.”

Ryuji fumed. “_Man_. It’s a mistake to be takin’ orders from a mascot.”

Morgana’s ears curled back, but he took a moment to collect himself. “I’m not some ignorant sports team mascot, Ryuji. Don’t forget this isn’t my _real_ form. The same thing that’s twisting people like Kamoshida distorted my body. Investigating the Metaverse is going to cure me _and_ fix society. As long as I can do those things, I’ll never stop fighting forward. And if you fledglings are with me, there’s nothing that can stop us.”

Ryuji grumped for a moment, then picked up his fork and jammed a heaping helping of roast beef into his mouth.

Ann looked between the others. “So what do we call ourselves?”

Eyes narrowing, Akira scooped up some of his jasmine rice. “I think Ryuji already decided that when he picked The Phantom Thief of Hearts.”

Morgana’s ears curled back against his head. “I know you have a thing against thieves, but it’s _stylish_. Besides, if we changed our name we’d have to start over with our reputation and everyone would wonder what happened to The Phantom Thief who stole Kamoshida’s heart.”

Akira’s mouth twisted into a frown and he swallowed. “I hate it when you have a point I can’t argue.”

“Who cares?” Ryuji said through a big smile, eyes already back on his food. “I’m sure we’ll make big headlines if we can catch the ring here in Shibuya. Even the cops haven’t been able to find the boss.”

Morgana swallowed a bite of his beef, then straightened. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Kamoshida dropped into our laps. We knew where he was, what he was doing, and his distortion was obvious as well. We need to find out all of those things as well as the name of the next target. We’d even need to decide which person in their heirarchy to take down, there might be more than one with a palace and the higher up, the greater the risk of a gross distortion. Today, we celebrate a job well done. Tomorrow we can begin our quest for the next heart to change.”

Ann sat up in her chair, turning to Akira. “If helping out Kamoshida’s victims had the impact we did on Shujin, just think how many people will find courage if we take on a kingpin.” She checked the time on her phone. “Only a few minutes left until the buffet runs out.”

Akira stood, took another selection of food, and returned.

Morgana smiled up at him as the transfer student sat. “The Phantom Thieves came to our first decision. Once we find a target, we need to agree on it unanimously.”

Akira shrugged. “Fine. The only name I wanted to go after doesn’t have a Palace.”

Ryuji glanced up from his plate, a drip of sauce running down his chin. “Whozzat?”

Akira shook his head, cutting into his beef. “Don’t worry about it.” He closed the Phansite and opened a new online shogi game.


	21. April 29th, Next Step

Persona 5: Daywatch

Friday, 29 April 2016  
Evening  
Ore No Beko Beef Bowl

Akira let out a heavy breath, then hung up his hat and apron on the hook in the tiny room serving as the office and staff break room in back of the beef bowl shop. Wiping his forehead with a rough paper towel, Akira tossed it into the trash and pulled out his school satchel. “Damn, I don’t remember food service being that taxing.”

Morgana hopped up on the chair in front of the desk. “But you kept up until closing. Not bad for your first time at a new place.”

Swinging the cubby-style locker closed, Akira took off his glasses to clean a lens flecked with sauce an hour ago. “And that paycheck in my account’s gonna help a lot. I was hoping on hearing something going on in Shibuya, but no such luck.”

Morgana smiled, tail swishing like an expectant predator. “You can’t expect to strike pay dirt _every_ time.”

Akira set the satchel down for his currently feline companion to get in. “True. I just feel like we’re on a time limit and I can’t see the counter.”

Friday, 29 April 2016  
Late Evening  
Yongen Bath House

Akira set his folded shirt on top of the stack in the battered, green-painted locker. The sound of running water in the other room competed with the sound of traffic leaking in through the front door, the air tinged with vinegar and cleaning chemicals. Undoing his belt, before he could slide his trousers off his phone buzzed. Growling, Akira pulled it out to see a group chat.

Ryuji already had a line submitted. [Phantom Thieves. Just the sound of it rocks!]

Ann’s icon pulsed for a moment. [You were the one who came up with the name, Ryuji. As long as we help people, it's good.]

Pursing his lips, Akira mulled over the mysterious website they all discovered days ago. [Who set up that Phantom Aficionado Website? I know how to handle my smart phone, but I'm no tech-head.]

[Ask Mishima,] Ann texted. [I remember him talking about web design to Shiho. She was just smiling and nodding, but he seemed to know what he was talking about. That or he knew someone who did.]

Ryuji’s icon blinked. [What about the poll responses? 'Do you believe in the Phantom Thieves?']

Akira sighed and sat down on a stool. [I'm not a politician. That's more… who was that guy we walked past in Station Square?]

Ann popped up next. [Either way, sixty percent seems low to me when we stole his heart.]

[Well, consider how low the site traffic is,] Akira reminded her. [Not even two thousand visitors, and I'll bet most of those are victims from Shujin and other students who heard straight from them. There's not even a link to it from the school website. I'm amazed either number is that high.]

Ryuji blinked as three dots indicated a message in composition for a moment. [Dude, when did you become an optimist?]

[I'm just trying to take an objective look at it. Maybe it's just a lot easier to do that since seeing Father Sugiyama.]

Ryuji’s icon blinked again. [But for real. Imagine how cool it would be if we got lots more people coming to us.]

Snorting, Akira sent, [Popularity is for needy, washed-up idols like Kanami. I just want to find the next person living on the suffering of everyone in Shibuya.]

Ann texted next, [I get what you're saying, but I think Ryuji's got a point too. The more people who know us, the more likely somebody will point us at one of those big fish we're looking for.]

Saturday, 30 April 2016  
Lunchtime  
Shujin, Kobayakawa’s Office

Makoto closed the door behind her, paced to the principal’s desk, then drew herself into a formal, attentive posture. Her mind buzzed trying to calculate the reason for this meeting. No student-council-related matters pressed for attention. Bullying incidents plummeted, though the students involved might all still be in shock over Kamoshida’s confession earlier that week. The plain-clothes detectives still interviewing staff had the gossipers buzzing, but now that the police were involved the case was in their jurisdiction. “You wished to see me, Principal Kobayakawa?”

Shifting some papers aside, the obese man in a mustard suit looked up at Makoto. “You saw the state Kamoshida-kun was in?”

Makoto only just held in a sigh. This sounded just like the rumor-mongers in the halls. “You mean in that assembly he called?”

“Exactly,” Kobayakawa said, rubbing his chin with an unfocused look in his eyes. “I’ve known that man for years, and he’s _never_ groveled. Something shady _must_ be going on.”

Makoto clasped her hands behind her back, fidgeting with her fingers. For a moment, she considered asking about the horrible rumors about Kamoshida. That the things he confessed about Takamaki and Suzui, the rumors about more of the same went back… maybe even before Kiriko-san transferred.

Her eyes fell to the floor for a moment.

Kiriko-san. Her grades weren’t as good as Makoto’s, but her involvement as president of the music club _and_ chess team, as well as treasurer in the student council, made her something of a rival. But on the eve of her expected announcement to become a starter on the volleyball team, she stopped going to all her clubs and went from one of Shujin’s most popular students to a recluse, avoiding teachers and students alike. It should have been Kiriko’s unstoppable step into yet another step into another sector of Shujin, and would have guaranteed her the spot of student council president this year.

Makoto shook her head. Dwelling on the past wouldn’t help her. “I… I’m not sure I understand, sir.”

“Well, a lot of rumors have been flying all over the school.” Kobayakawa dabbed at his sweat-beaded forehead. “It’s disrupting daily operations, but some of them have me very worried. Some students may have meddled with him, but who? And how?”

Opening her mouth, Makoto caught herself before she could question why they should look into it if his confession was real. Sae may not have mentioned it in a while, but ‘fruit of the poisoned tree’ could ruin an entire case even if the true perpetrator _was_ caught. “You think some students threatened Kamoshida-sensei? Blackmailed him?”

Kobayakawa nodded. “Students are supposed to trust their teachers, so the teachers can guide the students. If somebody’s gone so far as to attack such a respected figure as Kamoshida, any of the students or faculty could be vulnerable! And what might they be threatened into?”

Makoto nodded, unwilling to contradict the principal but unable to keep from seeing how all those hushed rumors lined up with the confession.

The principal held up his hands. “This could be very important for the safety and stability of this fine academy. I want you to look into this for me, even if it involves looking into student matters.”

Makoto tightened her hands behind her back. “Are you saying there may be some truth to those Phantom Thief rumors?”

Lips pursing, Kobayakawa took his chin in hand. “Kamoshida _did_ change somehow, but what I don’t know is the cause. If I don’t know that, how can I handle the media or police correctly?”

“Oh.” Makoto exhaled, feeling her spirit deflate somewhat as well. She couldn’t think of an angle to criticize his practical reasoning, but it didn’t seem very responsible. Especially with the ongoing reports of students getting caught up in scams in Shibuya.

As if sensing her thoughts, Kobayakawa gave a reassuring smile. “Your grades and conduct are impeccable, and your teachers have nothing but praise for you. If you could solve this mystery, I have no doubt that we could have a glowing recommendation for any college you desire, Niijima Makoto.”

Makoto stiffened.

“Your sister holds a lofty position at the Public Prosecutors’ Office, yes?” he asked in the tone of somebody who knew the answer and wanted to take the conversation somewhere.

Makoto swallowed and nodded, unsure why the room felt hotter than before.

Still with his plastic smile, Kobayakawa finished, “If something were to happen here, we wouldn’t want it to reflect poorly on her, would we?”

Feeling a drop of sweat trickle down the back of her neck, she said, “Of course not, sir.”

Kobayakawa relaxed. “What a capable and intelligent student council president. I look forward to you uncovering the truth behind this as soon as possible.”

Makoto fidgeted with her fingers behind her back for a moment, wondering if she should press about the fraud and scam concerns in Shibuya.

A cell phone rang. He pulled open a drawer and drew a small, black flip-phone. His eyes fell on her, something tense and bleak in them. “Thank you, Niijima.” He opened the call and lifted it to his ear. “Kobayakawa.” She stepped out the door. “Yes, sir, I apologize for the trouble when you are so busy. About the matter we discussed earlier…”

She closed the door and let out a tense breath.

Saturday, 30 April 2016  
After School  
Shujin, Class 2-D

The bell rang and Chunou-sensei paused to glare at the speaker in the corner of the room for interrupting her. Her eyes swept over the class, slowing at a few of the students, before she let out a defeated sigh. “Fine, go on home.”

A cheer rose up and some of the students shot out of class. Akira set his books into a neat stack, then glanced to his left at a clatter. Ann bent down to pick up pencils and lipstick knocked off in her haste. Finishing packing his own, he paused to let Morgana slip into his school satchel and slipped through the desks to Ann. “You going somewhere?”

Her right eye squinted a little in the tense, apologetic way she did. “Yeah, I’ve got a shoot today. And I was going to go up to see Shiho tomorrow. Sorry.”

Akira held up a hand. “No, it’s okay. Message me if Suzui-san wakes up.”

Ann gave a firm nod, then speed-walked out.

He managed to get up the stairs and halfway to the library when his phone went off. Akira sighed and leaned against the wall to check it.

A text message from Ryuji bounced in his inbox. [Yo, buddy. You got some time?]

[I was just going to get some studying in. You could always use a boost to your academic rank.]

Ryuji’s reply came fast. [Man, I could study for days and it wouldn't help. At this point I'm happy to pass.]

Morgana sighed and slouched against Akira’s shoulder. “Why am I not surprised?”

Ryuji added, [They finally fixed Gun About down at the Gigolo arcade in Shibuya. You should come. If we ever pick up a solid lead on that drug thing you warned us about, you need to know how to shoot.]

Akira ground his teeth, thumbs slamming into his smart phone. [My marksmanship was not THAT bad.]

[Dude, your first volley hit Ann, and monster-shida was a freaking barn.]

Sighing, Akira conceded defeat. [Point taken. I'll be there in fifteen.]

Putting away his phone, Akira jogged down to the train station. The usual press of people crammed against him even after disgorging from the train at Shibuya, but he managed to get to the arcade without starting a fight. Older men filled the pachinko machines at the front, and he shook his head as he proceeded to the arcade game section in the back.

Ryuji spotted him first, and waved from a tall game platform.

Akira came to a stop, noting four controllers at two pedestals in front of a projector screen, thick cables connecting them to the game station. The pedestal to the left held cradles for two pistols, the other for two rifles.

Ryuji held one of the rifles, a broad grin on his face as his friend walked up. “Check it out. One of the most realistic shooters without needing paint balls.” He quivered in anticipation, his smile growing almost to a manic state. “It’s awesome!”

Lifting the pistol controller in the pedestal in front of him, Akira tested the weight and balance. “So how’s it any different than those home console guns?”

Ryuji presented his rifle. “See how it’s got this?” He jiggled the rifle controller to shake the cable. “That ain’t just for power. It’s also got an air hose. Depending on the kinda gun you select, it’ll run air up through here,” he pointed along the gun, “so it shakes just like real recoil. Oh, and if you run out of your clip, you don’t shoot off the screen like those sissy arcades.”

Akira snorted. “There are games where you shoot off the screen to reload? What sense does that make?”

Ryuji’s smile grew to disturbing proportions, but faded as he set into teaching the system. “For real! I’m playin’ around with an assault rifle today, but I usually play close-in maps with a shotgun setup.” He pointed to a square button at the bottom of the grip. “These rifles are like the pistols – or SMGs if you pick that – you just slap the magazine well here to reload. Shotguns have a couple different ways to go depending on which one you have, my favorite has a tube mag so I have to hit this little panel on the side.” Ryuji flipped his controller over to point at a black, rectangular panel set in the bright blue plastic. “To move, just step on those pedals,” he pointed down at bottom of terminal, “and just step off ‘em to take cover.”

Akira looked at the pistol controller. “Wow, that’s a lot of effort for a game.”

Ryuji’s grin reappeared. “Ain’t it? C’mon, the terminals take all kinds’a cards so you don’t even need to buy tokens.”

Kneeling closer to the card reader, Akira pulled out his wallet and shot a brief glare at his running compatriot. “You know I’m also paying for our medical, right?”

Ryuji tilted his head. “Didn’t you say you were checkin’ out a buyer?”

“Yeah,” he said, authorizing a few games and standing up. “But I haven’t had time to meet him yet. Sakura-san just okayed me going out at night, and I’d rather not he find out I was doing anything other than working. At least for right now.”

Ryuji nodded. “I getcha. Let’s go back and play the grassy knoll. It’s pretty easy, but Gun About doesn’t have much of a tutorial. It’s more a pick-up-and-play.”

Akira picked an SMG and read what little instructions the game gave about using the controller. He joined Ryuji in a level walking down an inner-city park like Inokashira, but without the lake. They ran through it again another time, then went through a steel mill with two robots fighting in the background.

“Okay,” Ryuji said with a comfortable grin. “You seem to be pickin’ it up. Let’s step out of skirmish and see how you do against some real players. Let’s take the factory warehouse. There’s plenty of cover there, and it’s got more ammo drops than most other maps.”

Akira followed Ryuji’s avatar through the crate-filled warehouse strewn with forklifts. Despite the quick pace, Ryuji’s snap shots landed home every time and Akira found himself focusing on stragglers until they came to a player with a slender gas-mask over his face, its faceplate reflecting red light. No matter how many times he blasted a burst from his SMG into him, the player ducking in and out of cover kept up a quick advance. “What the hell is up with this guy?” His screen turned red and ‘insert credits to continue’ rose out of the dark.

Ryuji’s teeth ground and his glare at the screen turned murderous. “_You_.” He pulled the rifle controller to his shoulder and unloaded burst after burst into the gasmasked goon jumping and weaving around cover. The enemy player blasted Ryuji’s with a shotgun and the screen went red.

Ryuji kicked the pedestal. “Damn! I almost had enough points to buy a ballistic vest. I _hate_ that shit-head.”

Akira’s brow arched as he watched the screen. “Why is he crouching on top of your character, standing back up, and crouching again?”

Ryuji turned away from the screen. “It’s tea-bagging. Dude, you really _don’t_ keep up with shooter game culture. Doin’ that’s like flippin’ someone off an’ pissin’ on his corpse.”

Scratching his chin, Akira set his controller back in its cradle on the pedestal. “How’d he even get to you? I’m not to proud to admit your aim is _way_ better than mine ever will be. There is no way he could’ve gotten through both of us without getting hit. Especially when you gave up taking cover to unload into him.”

Ryuji leaned his hip against the pedestal and breathed in deep. “He’s got some kind of cheater armor or somethin’. I try different points every time I see him, but he kills an’ griefs anyone he runs across. Well, almost anyone. I heard The King survived once.” He turned back around and swiped his card over the reader to start playing the game again.

“You and your gun obsession need to see a therapist.”

Ryuji stood straight, giving a hooded stare. “It’s just appreciation, dude. I bet The King’s some ex-special forces hot-shot with thirty years of experience.”

Akira slipped the controller back into its cradle. “I think I’ll head back to Yongen.”

“What, you’re done after just two games?” Ryuji flashed him a mocking smirk. “My main man, you need to up your game if you wanna impress the ladies.”

Akira shot him a flat stare.

Ryuji rolled his shoulder. “Or just not embarrass yourself at the next Palace.”

Akira picked the controller back up. “Let’s do it. Show me these _mad skills_ you think you have.”

Smirking, Ryuji shouldered his rifle controller. “Heh. Kneel and eat my lead.” His eyes popped wide open. “That sounded less dirty in my head.”

Saturday, 30 April 2016  
Evening  
Shibuya, Central Street

Akira marched out of 777 Convenience, the unrelenting sound of the city hammered into his ears. Cars beeped and rumbled down nearby streets and a helicopter buzzed overhead. He grit his teeth and shoved his hands in his pockets, the noise alone an assault even before the crowd that never quit.

His stomach growled, a churning demand in his torso warring with his plan to flee to the relative quiet and solitude of Yongen. Big Bang Burger glowed from across the street, beckoning him through the horde.

With a concrete destination, Akira forced his way through the crowd, ignoring noises of protest until he got inside. Catching his breath in the line, he ordered a pair of burgers, looked in at the crammed seating, then decided to take his chances finding quiet on a side-street.

The instant he stepped outside, a clump of people crashed into him like a wave against a shipwreck survivor. He could’ve sworn the streaming crowds even pulled his air away with them. Pushed this way and that, his desperate hindbrain took over and he found himself taking the lightest streams and first side streets available. Still assailed by the sound of people so strong it wrapped around his heart and pulsed like eurobeat, he followed further down the dark side streets.

At last, he came to a place with no foot-traffic to compete with him, the sound of the city distant if still surrounding him on all sides. A utility road between a commercial property and the perimeter wall of a residential area snaked down the terrain ahead of him, and he spotted a person huddled against one of the concrete poles holding up power lines. “Hey.”

The down-on-his-luck man in ratty pants and a worn, hooded parka jerked awake. He shot a momentary fearful glance up at Akira. “Huh?”

Stomach still clenching from the crowd, he looked down at his two burgers. Something prodded him from inside and snatches from Father Motoori’s sermons surfaced in his mind. Akira held one of the wrapped burgers at the ragged-dressed man huddling against the wall. “Hungry?”

The homeless man’s eyes lit up and he shuffled closer, but paused. Suspicious eyes locked onto Akira’s. “For what?”

The transfer student shrugged. “Tell me about Shibuya. How you got here.” He left the hand holding the burger steady.

A long, wary moment passed before the homeless man looked between the paper-wrapped burger and Akira before snatching and unwrapping it, lifting it to look inside as if expecting some kind of gotcha. Satisfied, he put it back together before taking a deep bite, savoring the flavor for long seconds before chewing and swallowing.

That hurdle over with, Akira opened his and bit into his burger.

The homeless man sighed and looked down at his food. “I used to be a respectable artist once.”

Akira scanned the unfortunate drifter. “Sculptor?”

The homeless man raised an offended eyebrow. “No, _real_ art. Painting. I spent years under the mentorship of…” He turned a melancholic stare to his burger and took a modest bite.

Akira chewed, waited, swallowed, then waited some more. “Well, who?”

“Madarame.” The artist’s gaze turned wistful. “The great neo-classical Japanese Painter. There were a couple of us at his workshop.” He shuffled position to sit comfortably against the property wall, eyes in distant memory. “Oh, we’d make _amazing_ paintings like even Heizou would’ve struggled to create.”

Swallowing a big bite, Akira looked at a limp bit of tomato hanging out of his burger. “Sounds like a real cushy spot. How’d you end up out here?”

The artist’s shoulders fell and he stared into his burger. “He… was in a bit of a slump. We’d all pitch in – after all, it was the great _Madarame_, and he was showing us a world of art and technique we’d never have found otherwise. But one day he had some public showing at an art collector’s place in Nichino. I’d been doing a few things and wanted to keep my name on a screen painting of mine.” He paused to bite, chew, and swallow, his expression hardening. “He said no. At first I thought it was okay. Kita-kun and the others thought it was okay, after all, and Madarame taught us so much.”

“What happened?”

The artist let out a sigh. “He sold it. I heard one of that collector’s friends talking. He sold it for five hundred thousand yen. I don’t know which I was more mad at – that he never let me put my name on it, or that he put his on and didn’t want to cut me in on the sale. Said I wasn’t ready for the commercial world. When we got back to Tokyo, I went to some reporter.”

Akira stood straighter. “Remember who?”

“Murakami something. Said she wasn’t interested because she was working on some politician.” The homeless guy bit into the remnants of his burger. “Madarame found out anyway, thought I was trying to sell him out and kicked me out. When I tried to sell another screen printing to an advertising company, I hoped I could finally get my feet underneath me. Then they suddenly came back and said they couldn’t buy.”

Akira swallowed and crumpled up the remains of his wrapper. “What the hell would advertisers care?”

“Madarame was pressuring them. Said they’d never be able to reference his works if they did business with me. Same with the next place, then the next.” He looked at the one bite left, his eyes glistening. “My whole world was painting, but if I wasn’t making things for him he wouldn’t let me make anything.” He threw the last bite in his mouth and crumpled the wrapper into a little ball.

Akira reached for his phone, then realized he shouldn’t operate the Nav in front of other people. He changed his hand from his jacket to trouser pocket. “I may not know Madarame, but I do know that people who are really scumbags at heart are always the architects of their own downfall. He’ll either get caught or…” He shrugged. “Have a change of heart.”

The homeless man gave a bitter smirk. “Yeah, as if that could ever happen. Thanks for the grub, anyway.”


	22. May 1st, Meet Green

Persona 5: Daywatch

Sunday, 1 May 2016  
Early Morning  
Kanda Catholic Church

Father Sugiyama lectured on the daily message, his changing tone drawing Akira out of his melancholic musing. The middle-aged priest cleared his throat, then read, “Jesus told his disciples, ‘Because a loveless world is a sightless world. If anyone loves me, he will carefully keep my word and my Father will love him…’”

Akira crossed his arms, toe tapping on the floor for a moment. Looking left and right for anybody else uncomfortable, orderly throngs of calm Japanese followed along without any sign of demons haunting them. Despite being surrounded by people, he felt alone and far away from every one of them as Mass went on. When at last it drew to a close, he straightened to bail on the church. He glanced at the pew at the fold-up chess board he brought. He hesitated. Togo-san _did_ promise him another game.

Letting the hasty parishioners leave first, he sought her out and hid the board behind his back. “Hi.”

The girl with the red knot in her hair startled, settling into a practiced for-the-public smile in record time. “Oh, hello, Akira-san.”

“So…” He scratched the back of his neck, keeping the board out of sight. “I was about to ask for that game we couldn’t get to last week.”

Hifumi drew a closed hand to her chest, one eye narrow in a familiar pained expression. “Oh, I-I’m sorry. I have to do a photoshoot.” Her discomfort remained steady when she looked to the exit.

Unsure if he should feel better that her discomfort didn’t seem to be due to him, Akira tilted his head, keeping his chess board hidden behind his back. “Have to? You seem in quite a hurry for something you’re almost cringing just at the thought of.”

Hifumi forced herself to stand straight, impatience creasing the lines of her face. “It’s… I’m just trying to support my family and draw attention to shogi.” She gave him a shallow, swift bow, something about her looking like she just ate something bad. “Please excuse me.” Without allowing him another word, she dashed out.

Feeling his shoulders sag, Akira watched her jog out the doors. A few moments passed before he threw the folding cardboard to the pew next to him. He ran his hands through his hair, took in a deep breath, then remembered the box of chess pieces. Feeling cheated and still itching to test his mental mettle, he ran through the list of people he knew who might be interested in a game.

Akira sighed and narrowed that list down to people who probably knew how to play as well, coming up with zero. After letting out a frustrated growl, he collected his board and box of cheap plastic pieces.

Familiar footfalls drew his attention to the priest coming down the aisle to him. Akira bowed his head. “Father.”

The middle-aged man with greying hair inclined his head. “Son. What can I do for you?”

Something about asking the priest to set aside time to play chess felt wrong to him, so he dug around for anything else to talk about. “Uh… well… One of my classmates lost his girlfriend – Suzui-san.”

Father Sugiyama bowed his head. “I remember you mentioning her. We’ve all been praying for her recovery.”

Akira set the board and box on the pew nearby, then scratched his neck. “Well, Mishima-san was torn up when the ambulance took her away. I think he’d have rather died himself than let that happen to her.”

Sugiyama pressed his eyes closed for a solemn moment. “He sounds like a caring boy in hard times. I’m glad to hear you could be there for him.”

Akira cringed, then stretched out his shoulder as his insides quailed. “That’s just the thing. I don’t feel like I am. Whenever he talks about Suzui, I feel like I’m talking to a martian telling me about an alien planet.”

Pasting a cheery but not totally real smile, Father Sugiyama’s expression turned serious as he looked over the teenage boy. “At your age, you’ve never been in love?”

Akira glowered at the pews on the other side of the aisle. “No. There’s tons of shit poetry—”

Father Sugiyama cleared his throat, casting a glance at the crucifix.

Akira gave a nervous bow at the altar, only feeling the sense of pressure inside continue to rise. “Sorry, Father. But… I’ve studied medicine, and it reminds me more of… it’s like hearing about a disease I’ve never seen but I know the symptoms of. I just… he’s all torn up and I feel like I can’t get it so I can’t do anything for him. It makes me feel extra stupid. The girl he liked doesn’t like him anymore, why can’t he just move on? What am I missing?”

Father Sugiyama chuckled. “Oh, son, love is not by any stretch a disease. But to focus on your concern for your friend… He was very close to somebody and that horrible event took her away. He was used to her being there. Now a part of his life that he cherished is gone. I felt like that when I lost my job and my girlfriend at the time broke it off to live with someone with a steadier job. Now for me, that was the period that directed me to the Church. Looking back on it, I feel like I can be calm and safe in where I am despite the fear and uncertainty back then. He’s still lost in that unknown place.”

Crossing his arms, Akira looked at the priest as if something in the lines of his face might give answers to questions he didn’t know how to ask. “So is the problem Suzui-san or himself? All I could think of was to tell him to accomplish something instead of beating himself up over what Kamoshida did to Shi—Suzui.”

Sugiyama’s next smile looked genuine. “You’re a rather perceptive lad. Right now, I suspect he needs to come to terms with himself. That idea of yours of taking action was brilliant, but I suspect he still needs support to either rediscover himself or discover who he needs to become.”

Akira kicked at the wood floor. “Why are people so complicated?”

Sunday, 1 May 2016  
Early Evening  
Takemi Medical Clinic

The sounds of the city screeching all around him and a trace smell of garbage on the wind, Akira strode into the clinic lobby. Relative silence took place of the noise of the city, not a sign of another living person except the doctor sitting behind her plastic-shielded desk. Her fingers clacked away at an old keyboard, one of the keys sticking.

It took a moment for her to look up at him. A wistful spark in her eyes, she said, “In spring, one ‘sleeps a sleep that knows no dawn’, huh?” Tiredness overcoming her, Takemi yawned into her fist. “God, I need a nap. Or some good old-fashioned caffeine in my system.”

Akira shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’ll bring some coffee from Leblanc next time. I came to ask about a few things, like what’s going on in Shibuya.”

While her shoulders remained relaxed, her eyes narrowed and scanned him up and down. “I agreed to treat you with as few questions asked as possible, but I don’t run a loose dispensary.”

Akira waved a hand as if casting off something dirty. “I’m not looking for drugs today, I’m here for information.”

Glancing up at the front door, a moment passed before she clacked away at the computer, then put a ‘the doctor is seeing a patient’ sign up at the desk window. “In the back.”

Nodding, Akira set the bag with Morgana underneath a chair and headed into the exam room.

Locking the door, she crossed her arms at him. “I knew you were involved in something when you brought that girl in the other day, but I changed my mind. I don’t want you getting involved in my situation.”

Akira pulled out the little stool and plopped down on it. “I might already be involved in it. You’re just doing what you are because of Miwa-chan. Well, I’ve got people to look out for too. I’ve never been able to close my eyes and ears when something’s going on all around me.” He slipped his hands into his pockets and took a deep breath before he looked up at her. “So who was that dork in the leopard-print shirt?”

A small smile made its way over her face and she clamped her lips closed to strangle a laugh. “Well, you’re a fair judge of character so far.” Her look of amusement melted away. “But you’ve got no instinct of self-preservation if you’re trying to get involved in a yakuza drug ring.”

“Who’s saying I’m _trying_?” He leaned back a little before the stool wobbled and he centered himself on it. Considering a few possibilities, he decided to gamble on a guess he had no way of proving. “They’ve already got people at my school. Shujin’s not exactly close, but it’s got people that are already hooked. Don’t ask me to turn away from my friends.”

Takemi sighed and turned away to her computer with an organic molecule drifting in the screensaver.

After giving her a few more moments to think, he asked again. “Who was that dweeb in the leopard-print shirt?”

She turned and her eyes narrowed on him. “Anybody ever tell you you’re a busybody?”

“I seem to remember Kung-fu Cop telling me that back at Inuri.” Akira flexed his arms, stretching up, then clasped his hands behind his head in as relaxed a pose as he could get on the tiny stool.

Takemi let out a heavy breath and look like she just lost a custody battle. “Knowing my luck, you’re already involved and you just don’t know his name. He goes by Masa.” Her eyes narrowed. “_Don__’__t_ underestimate him. He looks like a big-mouthed thug, but he’s more clever than he lets on. He’s either a lieutenant or he’s gunning for a lieutenant spot in one of the yakuza in Shibuya.”

“Just Masa?”

Crossing her arms, Takemi ran a finger along the edge of her clipboard. “We meet at night in an alley of Shibuya. You really think he goes by his full legal name whether or not he’s got cronies around?”

The hair on the back of his neck rose. “He has dupes with him while you’re making some of these exchanges?”

She nodded. “Once in a while.” She looked him in the eye, the corners of her lips turning up. “Don’t tell me you’re worried about me.”

“If he’s the type I’m thinking of…” He tapped his knuckle against his lip, thinking of strategies and counter-strategies. “They don’t keep their word for long.”

Takemi scoffed, but the grip she held her clipboard with betrayed the underlying tension. “He needs me more than I need him. He wouldn’t be asking for that quantity of amphetamines if he had other reliable sources. My life is only in danger if I try to cut him off.” She looked away, letting out a long breath. “I just have to keep working on real medicine and hope I can do more good than the damage I’m causing.”

Akira looked at her for a long moment before deciding she had a good grip of where she stood. He nodded in thanks. “I’ll see if I can get anything else without raising suspicions.”

She pointed her clipboard at him, all trace of humor gone from her eyes. “Don’t catch the ire of the yakuza. They don’t play around.”

Standing, Akira straightened his school jacket and smirked. “Neither do I. Don’t underestimate my connections. Or how much I can do without ever being seen.”

Sunday, 1 May 2016  
Evening  
Yongen, Leblanc

Akira pushed the cafe’s door open, feeling worn out but still cheated an opportunity to flex his mental muscle even after an extra session at the arcade and making a deal with Doctor Takemi.

The little bell rang and Sojiro glanced up from the register. Further in, some salaryman in casual clothes and a ratty-edged green sweater stood from a booth further in. He dropped a few yen notes on the table and walked out, but stopped next to the younger man sitting near the manga by the register. “Hey, enjoy your sit-down, Defective Detective. You belong in little cafes like this.” Laughing, he walked out and Akira stared at the man’s rude gall.

The younger customer, probably some college student judging from the papers spread out in front of him, picked up his mug. It was almost enough to hide the sharp twist of his lip and narrowing of his eyes before he took a gulp and set down his coffee, all smiles again.

There was something familiar about burying feelings under a false front for the public that called to him, so Akira sat down at the bar stool next to the brown-haired college kid. Just before Sojiro could move from glaring to snapping at him to get away from the customers, Akira settled into today’s role. “One cup of the decaf blend.” He glanced at the empty mug in the other customer’s hand. “And another of whatever he’s having.”

For an infinitesimal moment, those red eyes narrowed at him, flicking over the transfer student’s face so fast he couldn’t tell if it bore more resemblance to a rabbit scanning the treeline for a hawk or a hawk scanning a field for rabbits. Then Red Eye was all proper posture and the smile of corporate spokesmen. “Oh, you don’t have to feel sorry for me.”

Akira pulled out the yen notes to pay for his and the other kid’s drinks, tossing them on the counter close to Sojiro and enjoying the feigned moment of no connection. “Even if misery doesn’t love company, good drinks do.”

Sojiro returned, setting down cups on saucers in front of each. “Enjoy.” His mouth pursed together, but with Akira refusing to act like anything but a new customer he must not have had any excuse to complain. The older man retreated to the sink to wash dishes.

The other customer ran a hand through his brown hair. “Well,” he took the cup and lifted it in a toast. “I suppose I can’t argue with that.”

Akira returned the gesture. “Amamiya Ren.”

Red Eye nodded. “Akechi Goro.”

Akira glanced over Akechi’s paperwork. “Looks like complicated legalese.”

“Oh, it’s not so difficult as it is much more verbose than it needs to be.” Tiredness ringed his eyes, but Akechi forced his face to hold a smile. “I suppose that’s the inevitable result of hundreds of years of legal traditions. This is just a motion for discovery.”

Akira snorted in amusement. “I just had the mental image of a lawyer jamming a flag into the tile floor and declaring ‘I have discovered the east courthouse bathrooms.’ Then some clerk walking past him going,” he waved his hand under his nose, “Yeah, I discovered it too.”

Akechi laughed, though his shoulders slumped just a little and when the laugh finished the smile was thinner. “No, no, it’s a court-mandated obligation for another party to turn over documents and evidence. It’s a favor for an investigative journalist who helped me numerous times in the past two years. When used in conjunction with a lawsuit or criminal investigation, it makes disposal of evidence a serious crime and opens more avenues for investigation and arrest.”

Akira took a sip of his coffee, twitching at his first sip and reaching for some creamer. “Yeah, they seem to be better at digging up dirt than the fuzz. _They_ only ever seem to go after the helpless.”

Setting down his cup, Akechi turned a page and signed a series of blanks. “It’s not that the police seek the helpless, they just have certain pressures to be much more cautious around connected targets. I’ve worked both with and outside the police as a private investigator. They have regulations and, being connected to the state, have both funding and politics to worry about.” He turned another page and read. “It’s been that way since the dawn of the samurai. The extolling of loyalty obligated them to prefer their sworn lord over the people of his fiefdom.”

“Ah,” Akira said, drawing himself up to the battle of wits. He held up a hand with his index finger extended. “But as Corvino said, loyalty is only a virtue when the object of loyalty is good.”

Akechi blinked, then gave a smile that touched his whole face. “You are very well-read, Amamiya-san.”

Sojiro’s cell phone rang and he headed to the kitchen to answer it.

Akira shrugged. “I’ve had to argue against blind obedience before. I find that Confucius is not the best source for such arguments.” He paused to sip his coffee, wondering why it tasted so different than it smelled and adding a little more creamer. “Investigative journalists don’t get enough credit for the amount of work they have to dig through. I wonder if Murakami worked on stuff like the ring in Shibuya.”

Akechi sat up straight, casting a wary glance at the transfer student. “How do you know that name?”

Akira raised one eyebrow. “One of those homeless artists in the backstreets of Shibuya told me about her. Something about Madarame. Why?”

Akechi picked his phone out from underneath a pile of receipts and tapped out a quick text message. “One of my contacts in the media keeps asking about a Murakami. Did this artist say when?”

Akira shook his head and sipped coffee to try to break the conversation.

Akechi bit his lip in thought for a few moments, then opened his metal briefcase, dug around in it, and handed a business card. “This is her card. She’ll want to know about this Murakami sighting.”

Akira swallowed and set his coffee down, reading the card. “Ohya Ichiko of the Maiasa Newspaper. I’ve never heard of it.”

“Really?” Akechi looked as surprised as he sounded. “It’s no small publication.”

“Okay, okay,” Sojiro said as he paced closer, his phone still at his ear. “I’ll just take care of these last two customers and come fix dinner.” Slipping the device into a pocket, he looked at both. “Sorry, boys, but I’ve got to close up now.”

Akechi took a deep draught from his cup, then packed up his paperwork. “Thanks for the shot of caffeine. Tonight’s going to be a long one.” Slipping his binder into the metal briefcase, he clicked it shut and left.

Before the bell stopped jingling behind him, Sojiro looked to Akira. “What was all that about?”

Akira took another sip from his cup. “You never seem to want me to be associated with this place, so I played the customer so I could lend an ear. It’s always interesting the things people will tell an unconnected stranger.” Turning the card over expecting a blank back, he read the katakana scratched by hand in blank ink. “Crossroads, huh?”

Sojiro’s eyes narrowed. “Well, I’d lose that card. Whatever that young man there was involved in is nothing _you_ want to get involved in. A lot of lawyers and papers by the look of it.”

Akira pocketed the card and took the dishes to the sink. “Whatever. You go take care of your personal business.”

Monday, 2 May 2016  
Morning  
Shujin, Class 2-D

Akira’s pen scritch-scratched down the page as he jotted down the mass of math problems Usami-sensei listed on the back chalkboard for this week’s homework. Conversation bubbled around him, only a few of them muttering his name. The rear door threw open and all talk stopped. Tomoya, the student council disciplinary head, rushed down the rows of desks to Mishima. He bent down and exchanged rapid whispers for a few seconds, pointing up at the ceiling in the direction of administrative offices.

After Tomoya departed, Akira returned to his desk. Scooting his chair around, he asked the class representative, “What was that about?”

“Tomoya-san was just talking to the vice principal. Again.” Mishima shrugged. “I guess he’s been setting up shop in the principal’s office and people are getting worried Kobayakawa’s going to jail. A lot of teachers are getting repeat interviews. That’s got to mean prosecutors are pressing charges.”

Akira snorted. “He _should_ be behind bars. Burying who knows how many rape cases makes him culpable in all of them. And anybody else who helped the cover-up.”

The front door slid open and Inui-sensei stormed in, his tie and the button-down under his suit jacket looking just a little rumpled. “Everybody in your seats. Time to study history, not be history.”

Monday, 2 May 2016  
Lunchtime  
Shujin, Class 2-D

Ryuji trotted in through the rear door, giving it a kick with his ankle to send the door sliding shut again to block some of the hubub of conversation in the halls. The few students still lounging in 2-D ignored him, either eating or continuing their own animated conversations. Ryuji plopped down at Mishima’s desk right behind Akira. “Hey. I’ve been followin’ those rumors about peeps doin’ stuff in Shibuya, an’ I think I finally got somethin’.”

Akira swallowed his bite of radish and turned in his seat. “Well?”

Ryuji opened his lunch sack, glanced up at the four continuing conversations about sports, video games, and girls, then leaned closer. “Nishiyama came in today with new shoes. _Real nice_ ones. Good enough for this girl who told me to notice and remember. But get this – he’s been complainin’ about not havin’ any money.”

Akira slumped in his seat and popped another radish in his mouth. “Ryuji, don’t waste my time with who’s got the latest fashion.”

Ryuji pulled out rolls wrapped in plastic. “You’re pissy today. Think about it, how often do you look at someone’s shoes? If she _noticed_ ‘em, that’s gotta mean they’re worth noticin’.” He tore the wrapping off and stuffed the first roll in his mouth.

“So what?” Akira said, feeling his blood run a little hot for reasons he couldn’t even understand and only feeling more on edge because of it. The weekend tended to make him feel cooler and more even-keeled, but this week felt like it dragged straight on from the last one without a moment’s respite. “Doctors all over say the most important thing you wear is on your feet.”

“Really?” Ryuji shook his head. “Well, apparently Nishiyama doesn’t have a job. I guess he’s always hangin’ around school.”

Akira nodded, impressed with how on-focus Ryuji was. “You know what class he’s in?”

Ryuji shrugged and swallowed his second roll. “Not in mine.”

Akira growled despite the start offered. “Great lead, Ryuji.” He shoved another radish in his mouth and took out his phone, navigating to the messenger. “But Mishima’s better with names than I am, maybe he knows.”


	23. May 2nd, Fiery Eyes

Persona 5: Daywatch

Monday, 2 May 2016  
After School  
Shujin, Stairwell near Class 2-D

Leaning against the stairwell wall, Ryuji scrolled through his phone. “The rating’s going down, but there’s more postings on the Phansite.”

Reading through one post, Akira made sure to push a heavy monotone droll into his voice, “Make my friend apologize for not returning the book I lent him.”

Ryuji’s shoulders drew up. “I didn’t say they were solid gold hits.” He backed out one step and continued scrolling. After a moment, he let out a brief sigh. “But yeah, lots of ‘em are like that.”

A pair of girls trotted out of Class 2-D and Akira watched them out of the corner of his eye. The longer-haired one took in a deep breath. “The atmosphere’s so different here. You wonder if that rumor about that Phantom Thief stealing Kamoshida’s heart is true?”

The shorter, more curly-haired girl snorted with laughter. “What a riot! That’s like sewer alligators.”

“But Kamoshida was _bawling_ up there on that stage. Who’d have ever thought such a serious teacher would do that?”

Short and Stupid flipped out her phone and browsed. “_Please_. He prolly couldn’t keep hiding it after that girl jumped off the roof. You know they take it easier on people who turn themselves in.” She looked up at her classmate. “I really don’t care about those thief rumors, I just hate that now our school’s gonna have a reputation.”

Her friend nodded as if the other said something wise. “Oh, yeah. I hope it doesn’t make our college entrances harder.”

Akira’s hand clenched over his phone as he abandoned the stairwell to spit fire at the two stupid girls. His fingers trembled, begging him to lash out to avenge their disregard. “_That girl_ was _Suzui Shiho_—”

Ryuji stepped up next to him, planting his hands on his hips. “Dude,” he said at the girls, “that is somethin’ messed up. She was my class rep, and she wasn’t even the first victim!”

Akira bared his teeth, focusing on Short and Stupid. “What the hell is _wrong_ with you? An innocent person,” he whipped around and pointed at the other girl, hoping she’d get at least _some_ of the message, “one of _your_ schoolmates almost _died_,” he shouted, voice rising, “and _your_ only concern is whether people might think of it when you apply for college more than a _year_ from now?”

Ryuji blinked as a girl with a braided headband approached. Focusing on the transfer student, Ryuji put a hand on his shoulder to hold him back. “Dude, I get it, but miss principal’s pet is gonna get inta this.”

The red-eyed senior stepped right up to the four clashing students.

The two girls snapped to attention, Short and Stupid hiding her phone behind her back. “Madam President!”

“_Madam_,” Akira spat with a roll of his eyes.

The student council president turned a glare to him. The two girls took the distraction to scurry away. He tensed his legs to give chase, but the red-eyed girl drew to her full height. She was still shorter, but set her jaw and held her glare. “Is there a problem?”

Ryuji waved her off with the hand not clamped on Akira’s arm. “Nah, we don’t need no teacher’s pet.”

Her ruby gaze shot to the dyed blond for a moment before drifting to the transfer student.

Akira remained tense against the track star’s grip for several long seconds further, glaring back at the red-eyed student. He recognized her from when she introduced herself as the president of the student council in the library. And talked down to him but not the other students talking in the library. Nobody got to that position without having powerful friends and kissing ass, so he grimaced and clamped down on his urge to run through her after the two sociopathic girls. “No,” he ground out before turning on his heel and jerking out of Ryuji’s grip. He paced down the stairs, but by the time he reached the ground floor his control frayed out and he punched the concrete wall.

The pain released endorphins countering his adrenaline and he pressed his forehead against the cool wall.

Keeping an eye out for other students giving them a wide berth for the moment, Ryuji came to a stop next to Akira. “I know it ain’t right, but that’s prolly how most of ‘em are gonna be for a while. Not a lotta people believe in the Phantom Thieves.” He jabbed Akira in the arm, and forced a grin and leaned in closer to whisper. “All we gotta do is take down more big shots. If we get famous, no one’s gonna talk down about stuff like this, right?”

Akira turned around, drew in a long breath, and leaned against the wall. “Think miss hoity-toity would count?”

Ryuji snorted, a hesitant grin creeping across his face. “Principal Kobayakawa sure does set out the red carpet for her, but that’s on account of her big-shot family. Prez’s just Shujin’s narc.”

Akira turned around closed his eyes and cycled through another long breath. “We can’t even find a target.”

Ryuji fidgeted. “Man, _I__’__m_ usually the impatient one. Don’t make me be the voice of reason.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot. “We just gotta keep our eyes up and lookin’ for a lead, right?”

Akira let out a huff, then stood up and nodded. “Nothing else to do.” He drew his phone and brought up an online game. Maybe trouncing somebody in shogi would make him feel better for a few minutes.

Ryuji brought out his phone too. “I’ll see what I can find online. You got luck like nothin’ else, so you keep an ear out when you’re on the streets, right?”

Akira grimaced, but Ryuji had a point. The former track star lacked Akira’s problem with crowds but stuck out when he _wasn__’__t_ trying. He was also better with search engines, or just getting lucky online, so Akira pushed off the wall and headed to Shibuya.

Monday, 2 May 2016  
Evening  
Yongen, Leblanc

The little bell rang as he trudged into the little coffee cafe, still beating himself up over his colossal failure to handle the student council girl. Even a few hours of wandering around didn’t loosen the bitter, twisted feeling in his stomach of a clash without resolution. No sign of Morgana at the base of the stairs probably meant he hadn’t found anything in his own wandering through Shibuya, either.

“You’re back early,” Sojiro called from behind a newspaper. “What happened?”

“Huh?” Akira said through a yawn. He shook himself and paced inside. “Slow day at the convenience store and the beef bowl already had two college kids on the roster tonight.”

Sojiro shrugged. “Well, the store’s empty tonight.” He cleared his throat. “If you’re up for it, I can teach you about how to make coffee before we have a regular in.”

After a whole day of dealing with impatient customers and wandering around a neighborhood that reminded him too much of a literal rat race, some studying to wind down and a long sleep called out to him. Still, the lack of progress in his investigation of Shibuya left tension running through him. “Clean hands, empty belly?”

Sojiro gave a superior smile. “Something like that.”

“I’ll go put things down first.” Trotting upstairs, Akira found Morgana sprawled over the bed. He sighed and dropped his school satchel to the floor with enough force to startle the cat awake. “I bought you a pillow so you’d have your own comfortable place to sit, why do you have to get hairs on my lumpy mattress?”

Morgana sat, curling his tail around his legs. He didn’t leave the bed. “You always complain about this or that not being neat. If it wasn’t for Lady Ann’s father, I’d let _her_ take care of me.” He closed his eyes and purred at the thought.

Akira rolled his eyes. “You spent most of the day out and about in Shibuya. Find anything?”

Morgana’s ears dipped. “There’s definitely something shady going on at the day lockers at the train station and Protein Lovers Gym, but nobody’s naming names. For the most part it’s just high school students.”

Akira’s lips pressed into a thin line and he changed out of his school uniform. “I’ve got some work to do with Sakura-san.”

Morgana hopped down in front of the little poster of Mary holding the body of Jesus on the wall beside the bed. “I think I’ll know where to find you.”

Akira trotted back downstairs, behind the bar, put on an apron, then took a few minutes to scrub his hands.

Sojiro gave a polite smile. “Since you’ll be working here, we need to make sure you have the basics down.” He crossed his arms, looking Akira in the eye. “You know what I mean?”

Akira put his fist to chin in thought. “Let’s see. My first day here you said men usually weren’t allowed in your passenger seat. Then you called the public phone because you only want women’s numbers in your phone.” He snapped his fingers and pointed to Sojiro, widening his eyes to complete the effect. “Hitting on girls!”

Sojiro slapped a palm over his face. “You are _way_ too early for those lessons.”

Akira gave a cheeky grin. “Preparation beats make-up, right?”

Sighing, Sojiro pulled down a jar of coffee beans. “I’m real particular about what we brew here.” He shot a pointed glare with no room for humor. “You serve a bad cup, and I’ll have you on the street so fast it’ll make your head spin.”

Akira snapped straight and gave him the British salute. “Understood, sir.”

Sojiro measured out some beans, shrugging off Akira’s irreverence. “I’ve been doing this so long I can measure out the beans by feel, but you’ll need to use the cup and scale. I’ll go over that next time when I explain mixes later. Coffee’s flavor is determined by three things. Grind, which I’m doing here. Then heat,” he pointed to the burners, “there, and time in the siphons.” He lifted the bowl, dumped the beans into a grinder, then set the bowl in front of the spout and flipped the switch.

Akira wrinkled his nose, his last memory of coffee being some underpaid intern burning it. “Why is that set to medium-fine? Isn’t it more flavor the finer it is?”

“There’s more surface area for the water to interact with, but different siphons work better with certain grinds. These take medium-fine.” The middle-aged man smiled. “But it’s good to see you noticed. That means you’re paying attention.”

Akira yawned. “So it’s just a set portion of beans for a set grind, then a pot of water over those burners for however long that mix takes?” When Sojiro nodded, the boy stretched out his neck. “Not exactly rocket engineering.”

The bell on the door rang, and a woman in a red business coat and a gaudy necklace walked in. “Good evening, So-chan.”

He gave her a stiff show smile. “The usual, then?”

“As if I could resist?” She sat down at a booth close to the end of the counter and flashed a flirty smile that made Akira’s skin crawl. It reminded him _way_ too much of his mother’s shameless flirting.

While Sojiro prepared the curry, Akira worked on the coffee. After accepting the meal, she ate and flirted, making Akira’s hackles rise. He tried to pretend he wasn’t there until his phone rang, giving him excuse to flee for the register. He opened the incoming chat conversation from Mishima.

[Sorry for taking so long to get back to you. I know Nishiyama's a second year, but he's not in our class. He hangs out around Iida sometimes, but he and I don't seem to cross paths much so I can't say where he is most of the time. Golden Week's starting tomorrow, so I might not be able to find anything. I'll keep an eye on the chat rooms.]

Akira frowned, but refrained from growling with the other adults so close. [Don't worry about detecting over the holidays. I'll be up in Kanda on Thursday anyway.]

[Some special Children's Day thing going on up there?]

Akira smirked, but the Catholic calendar was new to him too. [Day of Ascension at church. It's one of the big Catholic holy days.]

[You're Catholic?]

[Yes. Maybe not a GOOD Catholic, but I'm trying. Almost ten percent of Japan is Catholic.]

Dots indicating another participant composing a message blinked for a few moments. [That's true, I just never met one before. So what's that day like?]

Akira glanced over at the flirty woman and shivered. [Not sure I could really say. I've only been Catholic for six months.]

[Is it hard being Catholic?]

[Not as hard as being a teenager. Father Motoori always listened to me, gave me advice. His little church was the first place on Earth I felt safe. Of course, he had a troubled past just like me, got in trouble with the law, and was in prison for a long time.]

Mishima’s reply came uncomfortably fast. [That doesn't sound like a safe person.]

Akira paused, looking up at his last message and wondering why he wrote so much. [Sometimes when you're dirty, what you need isn't a person who's never been dirty. It's somebody who's been dirty themselves, someone who knows how to get the dirt out.]

[Sounds like something mom would say. She likes laundry metaphors.]

Akira frowned. On the surface the remark seemed so mundane, but something about it seemed so alien to him and knowing that it shouldn’t be just spelled out how far removed from ‘normal’ people he was.

He put away his phone just as the customer in red pulled the door open, then turned around to wiggle her fingers at Sojiro. “Ta ta,” she said in a husky tone before stepping out.

Akira shivered. _That_ kind of clear flirtation sounded like his mother, and sent his hackles up again.

Sojiro chuckled. “What’s wrong with you, girl phobia?”

Exhausted from the day, Akira closed the chat and rubbed his arm. “Let’s just say that experience taught me to be on guard when a girl gets flirty. They never do something unless they want something.”

“That much is true.” Sojiro chuckled, but before he could say anything, his phone rang. His eyebrow twitched in the manner of unrecognition at the caller ID, but he answered with the same professional tone as usual. “Hello?”

A moment passed before the middle-aged man turned away from Akira, body snapping straight. “How’d you get this number?” He listened for a couple seconds, shoulders tense. “Now? Where?” After several long second, his shoulders slouched. “Fine.” Hanging up, Sojiro jammed the phone in his pocket. “I’ll have to finish your lessons later.”

After all the stupid decisions he made that day, Akira leaped at the chance to try to curry favor. “I’ll finish the dishes. You want me to leave the stove on?”

Sojiro glanced at the time on the TV. “No, go ahead and close up.”

Constitution Day. Tuesday, 3 May 2016  
Evening  
Yongen, Leblanc

Akira toweled off his hands, feet throbbing in his shoes and back aching. At least the daily elderly couple were the only remaining customers, their silence a blissful reprieve from the day’s hubbub.

Sojiro took out the coffee filters. “Whew! I’ve had busy days, but we’ve never been packed for so long.” He banged the filters against a black bin with ‘compost’ painted against the side. “We could use a few more days like that, though. Helps during the rainy season.”

Akira set the towel against the bar beside the sink. “I have a couple things to do. Mind if I cut out?”

A corner of Sojiro’s mouth quirked up. “You kept up all day, I think I can close up.”

Akira rushed upstairs.

Morgana joined him at the table set up in front of the couch. “Whew. Boss worked us hard today, huh?”

Akira changed into a nondescript, long-sleeved shirt. “Worked _us_? All _you_ did was poke your head out from the base of the stairs a couple of times.”

Morgana’s ears pressed back. “It’s not like I _chose_ to be turned into something small and weak. Just think about how hard it would be for _you_ to wake up in a body without the opposable thumbs you know you were born with.”

Akira let out a long sigh. “I know. I’m just…” He sat on the couch and lifted his glasses to clean the lenses. “We’ve got a _really_ dangerous target somewhere in Shibuya, but the best place to get intel I can’t go to because I either freeze up or get unreasonably violent.” Setting his glasses on the table, he ran his hands through his hair. “If we could just get into this coward’s Palace I’m sure we could take him down, but trying to get information… I’m worse than useless. I’m a liability.”

Morgana took a single step closer. “Sometimes you just have to sit back and trust in the ability of others.”

Akira grumbled, but got up and opened a drawer under the workbench and withdrew a bag of koban coins and crumpled paper to keep them from clinking. Stuffing them in his satchel, he paused to let Morgana hop in before heading to Shibuya’s Central Street. While starting to get used to the terrain, the unruly mass of humanity pressed against him and it felt like the air was too thin to breathe by the time he got to the first available side alley. Akira sucked in air.

Morgana popped his head out of the bag. “Hey, Joker. You okay?”

Akira hunched, unable to drive away the sound of millions of feet and voices. “There’s…” He sucked in a breath, bracing against the brick. “…too many.”

Morgana patted the human’s shoulder with his paw. “It doesn’t sound like those scam artists are picking up kids right now. Might as well see if we can sell those coins.”

Nodding, Akira shoved his way the remaining distance to Untouchable. Shaking off his limbs to cast off residual tension, despite the air conditioner being full blast the steady, muffled sounds of machines provided him a sense of comfort.

Iwai looked up from a sporting goods magazine with some kind of foreign lettering on the front. “Well, if it isn’t the prankster. What can I do you for?”

Akira smirked, standing straight and confident as he paced to the window in the wielded grating. “A little of this, a little of that.” He knelt so Morgana could hop out of the bag and watch from out of the way, then pulled out the bag of muffled coins, removing the sheet of crumpled paper from the top and set it down. “Genbu-era koban. Probably not real, but they seem like near-period counterfeits.”

Iwai looked over them without a word, then slid all but one of them into a pile in the corner of the counter. Straighting one, he took another from the pile and flipped it heads-up next to the first, then put a ballpoint pen above both. That setup finished, he held his smartphone over them and snapped a photo. “You seem to know a lot about them.” His thumbs tapped over the virtual keyboard.

Akira shrugged. “Somebody near where I live happens to be an enthusiast. Not interested in buying, though. That reminds me,” he dug into his satchel, slipping a hand under the flap in the bottom and pulling out his sub-machine gun. “I need a…” his eyes squinted up in thought, “Ryuji called it a folding shoulder stock.”

Iwai took the sub-machine gun. “Gotcha.” He set his magazine over the kobans and headed to the back. After a few moments a heavy metal machine whirred to life, then metallic grinding rang through the building. An electric power motor buzzed a few times.

Morgana looked into the narrow hall behind the counter to the back room. “This guy sounds like quite the craftsman.”

“Nobody gets good at something without doing it a lot,” Akira said.

Iwai returned to the front with something shrouded by a threadbare brown towel. Setting on the counter, he flipped the towel off the SMG with what looked like a thick wire bent into a brace extending out of the back.

Akira picked it up and held it up like he saw other players do in Gun About with the rifle controller. The aiming sights down the top looked clear and it fit just right against the pocket of his shoulder.

Iwai smirked. “It folds just like a real one. Just press there to unlock the stock and…” A metallic click sounded and it rotated around. “Looks like you got it.”

Akira folded the stock on the sub-machine gun, leaving it no bigger than it was without. “Nice. I see why he said folding instead of just a stock.”

Iwai’s phone buzzed. Picking it up, he read, then sat back down behind the register. Counting the coins, he typed something else in, scraped them into a beat-up cardboard box-top of printer paper and slipped them underneath the counter. Those stowed, he opened the register, counted out quite a bit of cash, then set it in the window. “Always a pleasure.”

Akira slipped the model weapon back into the bottom of his bag, then picked up the money. “Damn, I could pay off our first trip to the doc with this.” Yawning into his fist, he distributed his cash into a couple pockets.

“Hey,” Iwai said, switching the lolipop stick to the other side of his mouth as he stared through the grating. “You’re not using those guns to hold up a bank or anything, are you?”

Akira snorted. “I don’t even like banks. They’re full of legalized thieves.” He lifted his other hand in leaving. “See you later.”

Iwai tipped his baseball cap and Akira stepped out.

Nature Day. Wednesday, 4 May 2016  
Late Afternoon  
Shibuya, Central Street

The sound of thousands of people walking and talking made for an effective blanket of white noise, but the forceful press of bodies and constant motion made Akira feel like a rat in a kicked ball. The crowd was thin at this time of day, with most people being on vacation in the more exotic locales of Japan, but the foot traffic’s lack of order grated on his nerves. Still trying to keep an eye out for a yakuza scouter picking up people for whatever operation they had running, he noticed somebody with dark hair tailing him.

He rolled his eyes and his urge for violence shifted from the crowd around him in general to the girl hiding behind a manga. The game of cat and mouse sent a thrill through him back at Inuri High, but a game of skill only counted if the opponent had some ability. This one was clumsy and wouldn’t fool a five-year-old child.

Akira wondered if this was how Togo-san felt when she steamrolled him at shogi.

Shaking his head, he made wide motions in turning onto a small side street lined with lockers. A gym and a couple hiding points lay beyond. Akira slipped into a gap between two units of lockers and waited.

The stalker paced down the alley, at least having enough sense to check an immediate horizontal sweep. Seeing nobody, she picked up her pace to a light jog and peeked over her manga to check the entrance to the gym.

In one fluid motion, Akira slipped out behind her and snatched her manga.

He came to a full stop when he realized it was the latest volume of Fairy Tail. “Wait, you read Fairy Tail? No way!”

The red-eyed girl ripped it back out of his hands, some emotion flickering through her eyes too fast for him to identify. “Why not?”

He glanced back at the student council president of Shujin, but his mouth ran ahead of his brain. “Fairy Tail’s awesome, and you’re a tool!”

She cringed, but straightened with furrowed brow. “You wouldn’t happen to be off to some clandestine meeting, would you?”

Akira bristled. “I’m guessing they don’t teach subtlety at those ritzy cram schools you go to, _Madam President_.” He slipped his hands into his pockets. “Though I guess you won’t need to be subtle when you’re walking over us little people’s throats when you’re councilor or whatever position you inherit.”

Miss President gaped, hurt flashing through her eyes before clenching her fists. She rocked back onto her heels for a moment.

“I’m not gonna pretend that I haven’t given people reason in the past,” Akira said, “but why are _you_ so up in my case that you’re even following me around Shibuya on the holidays? _I_ got business with the shit-heads makin’ trouble here, it ain’t your scene. Offense intended, shouldn’t you be browsing for designer clothes up in Takenoko?”

Her fists trembled for a moment, but contrary to his expectations, she straightened and held her narrowed gaze on him. “My _name_ is Niijima Makoto. Consider my position as the student council president of Shujin Academy.”

Akira threw himself to one knee, arms up as if to defend himself from an enormous assailant. “Oh no, not the chief boot licker of prison school! What ever will Sukeban have someone else do to me?”

Niijima bristled, her fists clenching and a twitch at her upper lip. “Do _not_ call me that. I have enough to do without dealing with your horseplay. _I_ keep the peace in Shujin and _I_ fulfill my duties to my family.”

Akira spat on the ground. “Don’t give me that horse shit. Tribe and family honor is all just a front that people hide their own vain ambitions behind.” He took a step and jabbed a finger at her. “You think you’re hot shit because you’re prince – not _king_ – of a graveyard where dreams go to die?”

Niijima’s fists tightened and rose, one foot sliding back and to the side. “Shujin is a great, prestigious school.”

Akira hopped to his feet so he could make sure she had to stare up at him. “Great school? It hid a rapist for _years_. Then your oh-so-benevolent principal lays out just how eager he is to give me the left foot of fellowship.” He paused to hold up his hands in feigned defense. “Oh, then… _mysteriously_… on day one _someone_ lets slip that I got a record.”

Taking a shallow step back, Niijima blinked. “I had _nothing_ to do with the leak.”

Akira snorted. “Right. And when people all over that shitty school started talking about the ‘shifty and malevolent’ Kurusu,” he paused to spit, “I’m sure Sukeban set the record straight.” Her firm stance faltered and her eyes drifted down for a heartbeat before snapping back up to his. Her mouth drifted open, but by that point he felt on a roll and couldn’t stop the venom from his voice. “But I’m just some transfer with a record. At least you did everything you could for Suzui.”

Niijima wavered on her feet, her face twisting as if he gut-punched her. He knew it was a low blow, more than she probably deserved even if the rumors about her being a toffee-nosed snitch were true, but the words hung in the air and he couldn’t take them back.

His throat closing, and his damned pride pounded down the urge to say ‘I didn’t mean it’. Stomach twisting, he turned on his heel and marched into the narrow streets until the roar of traffic drowned out his heartbeat in his ears. Out of breath, he came to a stop next to a brick wall and slumped against it. He took off his glasses and felt the hard edges of the brick press back against his skin. “Great job, shit-head. Way to build bridges. No wonder everyone who meets you wants you dead.”


	24. May 6th, First Glimpse of Mementos

Persona 5

Friday, 6 May 2016  
After School  
Halls of Shujin

Akira slid the rear door of Class 2-D open, then stepped into the hall. Ann stepped out a moment later, closing the door as Akira busied himself with an online shogi match. The two students turned to the stairwell and ascended to the third floor where Student Council President Niijima almost bumped into them.

Shifting her weight to her back foot, she gave a smirk like she expected a party to leap out at any moment. “Off to some clandestine rendezvous?”

Akira looked up from his online game, the pleasure from his incipient victory clashing against the suspicion about her extremely obvious leading question. Was she that oblivious, or did she have something on him that made her that confident? Akira could only raise an eyebrow. “Um… what?”

Standing even straighter, Niijima’s smile vanished beneath a layer of composed calm. “Nothing. Carry on.” She walked off toward the library.

Akira glanced over his shoulder at Ann, standing just a step beneath him on the stairs. “How’d she get to be president?”

Ann glared after Niijima. “Probably from having top marks last year.” Pacing around him, she headed for the door up. “Let’s just go.”

Turning his attention back to his shogi game, he followed her onto the roof, hearing Ryuji come up after. Morgana hopped out of his school bag and onto a desk as the rest took a seat. Ann leaned against the perimeter fence and a cool breeze wafted over the rooftop.

With everyone settled, Akira looked down at his game and saw _opponent resigned_. He threw his free fist in the air. “Yes!”

The others shot to their feet and looked at him with baited breath. “We got somethin’?” Ryuji blurted.

Akira swallowed and pulled up the messenger app. “Uh, sorry. I just won. Feels like the first time in a while.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, Mishima texted me at lunch. Said Iida is in our class, found out Nishiyama’s one of his friends. Nishi’s in Class 2-C. Apparently they meet up in Shibuya sometimes, just not where Mishima hangs out.”

Plopping into a chair, Ryuji growled. “It’s been a _week_ and this is all we can find out?”

Akira shrugged. “I checked with that doctor, but all she knew was the guy buying drug ingredients is named Masa and she doesn’t even know for sure if that’s his real name. Either way, it’s not enough to look for a Palace.”

Grinning, Ann brushed one of her pigtails off her shoulder. “Actually, since Kamoshida’s confession a lot more of the girls in Shujin started talking to me. Akemi said her big brother’s been using. He’s a college senior, but he still works in Shibuya. Hopefully that means the friend he’s buying from is also in Shibuya.”

Ryuji settled his chair back to all four legs. “Got a name?”

“Masachi Marai. She even posted it to the Phansite.”

Bringing the bloody eyeball app, Akira considered how unlikely it was to just guess what somebody’s secret distortion was. He punched in the name just in case.

“Candidate not found,” his Metaverse Nav said.

He grimaced. “Damn. No Palace.”

Ryuji groaned. “Man, what kind of Phantom Thieves can’t come up with a good guy to heist? We’re _never_ gonna get famous at this rate.”

Ann sent him a sharp glare. “We’re doing this to give hope to the helpless, Ryuji.”

Akira didn’t like Ryuji’s attitude, but followed the idea to browse the Phansite. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that they’re so hard to pin down, or the cops would’ve done it already. But if we can’t find anybody connected, how can we possibly hit the top of that corrupt pyramid?”

Ryuji leaned back on his chair, kicking it up on its rear legs again. “I’ve been checkin’ the Phansite. So far, just a lotta bitchin’ about parents or boyfriends. I’m thinkin’ that Nishiyama-Iida angle is more likely to go somewhere.”

Phone on the Phansite, Ann winced. “Maybe asking people to post a name and location is too much. I know the name and location submissions are blanked out to regular users, but even _I__’__d_ be hesitant to put someone else’s name out there.”

“Truth,” Ryuji said, flicking his thumb up along his screen. “I mean, just that people already _are_ is kinda freakin’ me out.”

Akira opened a new thread. “Especially if they don’t believe the Phantom Thieves are real. Wanting to believe we took down Kamoshida and believing we’ll take down the next asshole is two different things.”

Ryuji growled. “Well… If nobody’s gonna tell us, we’ll find one ourselves.”

“Who?” Morgana’s ears drooped. “If they were big enough everyone knew them, the police would already be on them.”

“As much as I’d like to get on this _now_,” Akira said, “we do have midterms next week.” He looked up at his two school companions. “You two ready?”

Both of his fellow students found sudden fascination with the roofing beneath their feet.

Sighing, Akira moved to the next thread. “We need to set up a study group. My math and English suck.”

Morgana chuckled. “It’s not as bad as Ryuji’s Japanese.”

Ryuji slammed his chair back down on all four legs. “I don’t have to take this from a _cat_.”

“I’m not a cat!” Morgana stood, tail held aloft, ears folded back. “Not every challenge can be solved with brawn and overconfidence. Sooner or later we’re going to run into traps that you’ll have to think through.” He glanced up at others. “Your Personas are a reflection of yourselves, everything you do in your daily lives has an impact on them.”

Ann chuffed. “I hate studying. But I guess if it’s training to be a phantom thief, I can push through.”

Ryuji’s shoulders slumped. “Maaan… I became a phantom thief ta fight Shadows and help people, not study.”

Akira deadpanned, “That would explain your class ranking.”

Ryuji shot to his feet and snarled, “I don’t have to take this from you, too!”

“Hey!” Morgana shouted. Once everyone’s eyes were on him, he sat. “Studying is important, but just because we can’t find a Palace doesn’t mean we have to give up.”

Akira sat back against a desk. “No Palace, no Shadow.”

Smirk growing enough the transfer student could see it even on his small cat face, Morgana sat back down, tail curling around his feet. “You all _did_ agree to help me if I helped you with Kamoshida.”

Akira looked up at him, eyebrows up. “That’s true, and you were there the whole way with Kamoshida. But what can we do?”

Morgana hopped off his desk, leaving a little rattle, then paced back to the door off the roof. “Come on. This little trek starts in Shibuya.”

The team headed out, though Morgana noticed Niijima at the end of the hall, holding up a manga as if it could shield her from their view. As they headed down the stairwell, Niijima slipped to the stairs up to the roof.

Friday, 6 May 2016  
After School  
Shibuya, Station Square

Dozens of people criss-crossed the paved square in business suits and bland clothing adults used to indicate their surrender to boring. Akira crossed his arms, leaning against the concrete wall in the nook of the courtyard the group stood in, watching the crowd in the Station Square.

Ann mimicked the gesture, watching his posture. “Starting to get used to the Shibuya crowds?”

Still terse, Akira answered, “It’s not the crowds I have a problem with, per se. It’s getting pushed around and people coming up behind me when I’m not ready.”

Ryuji, standing closer to the lanes of travel, looked lost and confused. “I’ve been hangin’ out here lots this week. What am I s’post’a be seein’?”

Akira glared at Morgana, sitting on a chest-high wall that put him near eye-to-eye. “I could be practicing shogi right now. What am I supposed to be doing with the Nav?”

Morgana wrapped his tail around his feet. “Remember that friend who might be selling drugs?”

Akira uncrossed his arms. “Don’t you remember back at school? I already tried Marai. We don’t have a location or distortion. The app said he didn’t even have a Palace.”

“Just listen to me.” Morgana stood, looking out at all of them. “All of you, too, this place is harder to get into than anybody’s Palace. Type Mementos into the keyword.”

Akira finished typing and hit the check address button.

The droll, automated voice floated out of his phone. “Candidate found.”

All three humans stiffened, eyes widening. Despite the multitude streaming around them, Akira would’ve sworn not a breath passed between the thieves.

Ryuji cheered. “Sweet! Does this mean we don’t need a location for everyone?”

“I said _all_ of you,” Morgana snapped at Ryuji, while scanning the crowd as if expecting an assassin to burst out at any moment. “We’ll each have to use our abilities to get into Mementos.” Once they were all ready, he settled back. “Now as soon as we have a clear opening, hit it.”

Akira scanned the thinning crowd, then almost as one the three hit the Metaverse Navigator. The world bled red, all motion slowing down and twisting in on itself. When the distortion and sense of gut-wrenching motion ceased, an empty Station Square surrounded them.

Ryuji braced, his fists up. “Where’d everyone go?”

Akira blurted a surprised laugh. He ran into the square, arms spread straight out and ran in a wide circle, laughing and taking in the dulled scent of summer. His heart leaped in his chest. “Finally! It’s Shibuya without a gazillion people!”

Ann looked around, knees bent and stance wary. “This is Masachi’s Palace?”

Morgana, now in his boyish form, beamed a smile at her. With his stature less than a meter tall and head rounder than any human it almost made the transfer student laugh. “Yes and no, Lady Ann. It’s a sort of Palace, but not like the one Kamoshida had.” He stopped and turned to the square, fists clenched before he bellowed, “Joker!”

Realizing he looked like a child, Akira stopped and followed him down to what should be the Shibuya’s underground walkway. All the main lighting looked dead, but a dim red shone out from the emergency lighting and through the cracks of the staff doors. He inspected the vents and some of the pillars, where some crystalline substance crawled out or around the shapes like mold.

Morgana held the lead. “Be careful. Lots of Shadows lurk further down.”

“Sounds quiet to me,” Akira said. He gestured to Ann. “And I don’t see Catw—her thief uniform. Shouldn’t we have gone all fire-and-phantom-thief yet?”

Morgana shook his head. “The tunnels may be teeming with them, but they rarely come up. It’s like they’re drawn to something below.”

Ann tapped at one of the darkened vending machines. “What is this place if it isn’t Masachi’s Palace?”

“This isn’t _Masachi__’__s_ Palace. It’s _everyone__’__s_,” Morgana said with a theatrical sweep of his arms.

It was plenty to tickle a cold worry in Akira’s mind. “Hold on a second. With Kamoshida, you said that crown was the core of his Palace. When we took it, that place crumbled.”

Morgana nodded. “That is correct. His Treasure and distorted desires grew until they could no longer be contained in Mementos and they formed a distinct Palace for Kamoshida himself.”

Ryuji scratched his head. “So… Kamoshida’s Palace was like a hermit crab that outgrew its shell and left to go find a bigger shell?”

Morgana looked askance at him. “The _Treasure_, yes. To a certain point, distorted desires and their Shadows can exist together down here. However, they begin to distort their own little space and after enough time, if that distorted desire is… _fed_ by the person, it expands into an independent Palace like you all saw with Kamoshida. Until then, those distorted desires reside here in Mementos.”

Akira swallowed. “You’re saying it’s like a Palace for all of humanity? Like a collective… no, not consciousness, a collective _un_conscious?”

Morgana’s eyes narrowed. “I’m a little uncomfortable with how unsurprised you are by all this.”

Akira steamed ahead. “Everyone’s Shadow is down here?”

Morgana nodded.

“So somewhere in here I have a Shadow?”

Morgana fell down to all fours, touching his wide forehead to the floor. “I thought I told you, Persona users have to form a kind of… self-understanding that should make having a Shadow and therefore a Palace impossible.”

Ann stepped between them. “But if the Nav could still react with ones like Masachi, does that mean we can change hearts even if they don’t have their own Palace?”

Morgana flashed her a wide grin. “Precisely, Lady Ann. I’m glad to have a smart person on the team.”

Akira and Ryuji both stomped in protest. “Hey!”

Then Akira blinked. “Wait, what about a calling card?”

Morgana flinched, but held eye contact. “We shouldn’t need one for Shadows that are still in Mementos. Something about them is still… I don’t know, _bound_ enough to the Treasure and to Mementos that we should be able to engage the Shadow directly. We should be able to change them just like we did with Kamoshida.” He hopped down some stairs, the team following as a prickling sensation of eyes on them grew. A few paces from the subway station, flames flickered over them, leaving the team in their Phantom Thief outfits. “If the public was more aware of us it would be easier, but it’s still possible.”

Though the way the emergency lights shone red made the floor look caked in blood. Where the real world’s subway smelled of perfumes, machine oil, and overworked electronic circuits, this place reeked of dust, scorched grain, and some kind of metallic tang he couldn’t identify. Akira thought he saw movement in the shadows, but every time he turned to look, he saw only dark lines of a distorted subway.

Morgana stopped on the station above the tracks. “Stay wary of Shadows.” A smirk spread over his face. “I’ve been waiting to show you guys this.” He leaped, somersaulting into a spin, then with a pop, burst into a Citroën minibus. “Everyone in.”

Ryuji gawked.

Akira knew he looked similarly shocked. “A van?”

The minibus shook on its wheels and Morgana’s voice came from it. “It’s similar to how cognition materializes those transformations for you guys.”

Akira lifted a gloved hand. “I would like to call your bullshit and raise a what the hell? _We_ get coats and _you_ just turned into a _car_.”

The minibus’ doors opened. Morgana’s voice floated out, “Get in and let’s go find Masachi.”

At hearing the name of their target, Akira blinked and glanced at the others. “He’s right.”

“Window seat!” Ryuji said before dashing for the side door.

Ann grimaced, pushing as she ran for the same door. “Ladies first, Reaper!”

The minibus trembled more than just two teens stepping in should cause. “Gentle, Panther!”

Akira settled into the front seat and closed the driver’s door. The interior looked just like an ordinary vehicle, and he ran his hands over the steering column.

The minibus, Morgana, jostled. “If you grab the steering wheel and scratch my beautiful paint, I’ll never forgive you, Joker!”

Akira took his hands back and the minibus drove at a cautious speed into the gloom lit only by the headlights and occasional emergency lighting that looked more like they dripped cones of blood than lit the tunnels. The small headlights cast overlapping white light into the deep darkness ahead.

As the dim red lighting on the train station fell behind, Ann shifted in her seat. She looked out one window, then another. “Something about this place feels like I’m being watched. Kinda like a Palace. You sure you can find him, Byakko?”

“I can sense him kind of like how I can sense the Treasure in a Palace.” Morgana turned a corner.

Something towering, but deformed and bulbous stared down at them. Akira would have called it humanoid, except it lacked a head and leered down at them with either multiple faces or masks embedded across its body. It took a step at them. He could hear the thud from inside the minibus. One ‘arm’ reached at them, and he could swear it lengthened at them.

Tires squealed as Morgana shot past it, then kept on driving into the dark. The monstrosity gave chase until it receded into a tiny figure in the back window.

Mementos, Masachi Mirai’s Distortion

Black gushed away from the monstrous ball of flesh and it fell with a wet thud to the etched obsidian. The polished surface stretched out as wide as the rooftop batting practice range, the glowing patterns making it look more like the carved bobble of a fantasy sorcerer. Lit by glowing red pipes at the back, they reminded him of veins even without the eerie floating cord now severed from Shadow Masachi. The Shadow itself, a sphere with eyes and mouths scattered across its ugly shape, thrashed and wailed.

Black muck dissolved until only Shadow Masachi remained on all fours, breathing hard. The pudgy middle-aged man looked up at the thieves, glittering eyes wide. “Please… You can’t do this to me.”

Ann braced behind her pistol, confident and ready to launch back into combat. “You think just because someone else threatened you, that gives you the right to threaten lots of other people?”

The Shadow of Masachi Marai looked up through his thick, unruly mop of black hair. His fur-lined leather coat looked more like bonds weighing the overweight man down. “But they have lots of people! With guns! If I don’t sell… or at least bring in the quota every month, they’ll kill me.” He shrunk away from Ann, cringing at Akira before prostrating in front of Ryuji. “They don’t just have dirt on me from selling in Shibuya! The one time I said I wanted to stop, she brought photos of ma and pa sleepin’ in their bedroom.”

Akira raised an eyebrow. He didn’t comment out loud that he understood the threat. If the yakuza could get a photographer into his parents’ bedrooms, they could get an assassin in there just as easily. He lowered his submachine gun. “She? Who is she?”

The Shadow backed away on his knees, holding up a hand to shield himself. “No, if I tell, she said the next time I saw ma and pa again they’d be in wooden boxes!”

Ryuji came alongside Akira, leaning close to whisper, “Tch. Ain’t that the same kinda thing you said they’re doin’ for the doc?”

Nodding, Akira took a step forward. He held his emotions in check and tried to inject some soothing into his tone, “She won’t find out that you told us.” His hand tightened on his SMG. “But if you don’t tell us, _I_ will be _very_ unhappy.”

Shadow Masachi cringed, both hands held up. “I don’t dare.”

Akira clicked the firing selector and squeezed off a single shot next to Masachi’s ear. The Shadow fell backwards, covering his face with his hands and wept.

Ann ran between Akira and the Shadow. “Joker!”

He hissed, “This is the only way to make our way up the ladder.” He stepped around her, his grey eyes falling back on Masachi. He flipped the firing selector to burst with a click echoing through the enclosed space lit by the eerie, vein-like pipes. “Tell me!”

“Tosa Kotomi!” Shadow Masachi wailed.

Akira lowered his gun and turned away. “All right, everyone. On to Tosa.”

Mementos, Path of Aiyatsbus

Morgana, in his catboy form, hopped up on the station platform in front of the others. The dim red lights and crystalline corruption creeping from the staff utility door gave another reminder the concrete-and-steel space around them wasn’t the real world. “Oh, good. It’s a route down.”

Ryuji slapped a palm to his forehead, the sound only louder when it struck his heavy mask instead. “You didn’t know where it was? I thought you were here before.”

Morgana turned around, looking imperious from his stance on the concrete above them. “It’s the fused cognition of every human who hasn’t either awakened into a Persona user or separated into Palace ruler. It would be useless trying to make a map.”

Ann looked around the otherworldly subway. “So it’s always changing? Why aren’t we seeing the walls move?”

“I think there’s a stabilizing influence from the presence of Personas.” Morgana’s cheeks puffed out as he considered. “That or maybe it only shifts during certain times when I never happen to be here. Either way, I know the path is different every time I come, but it never changes while I’m here.”

Rails rattled and Akira felt as much as heard a roar of air from deeper in the concrete-lined tunnels. A garbled horn reminding him as much of a distant woman’s wail as a machine warning sounded.

Akira shouted in a panic, “Off the tracks!”

The team scrambled up onto the platform with Morgana. Moments later a subway train pulled up to the opposite side of the station, dim red lights flickering inside. A scattering of indistinct silhouettes stood inside.

Breathing hard, Ann stood up. “I _knew_ I heard trains! How are trains running in a Palace?”

“Isn’t this how the public views the subway?” Morgana tilted his head, ears rotating one way, then another. “As long as we keep our heads up we should be fine. Now come on, I need to check something down this way.” He bounded to an inactive escalator going down.

The team followed him down to another station platform below. With only emergency lights casting dim red light, this place looked even darker than above. The concrete walls cracked and Akira could’ve sworn they bowed outwards under some unknown weight.

Ryuji paced to the side, then pounded at a dark ATM, then sighed in disappointment. “Man, it’s like everything electronic ain’t workin’.”

“Except those trains,” Akira pointed out, eyes flitting this way and that as he tried to take in the whole eerie place around them. “And those bloody lights.”

Without warning, Morgana leaped with a victorious fist-pump. “Yes! Here it is!” He dashed into the gloom and the others followed him to a familiar sight. The wall looked too smooth to be concrete, its surface more like polished obsidian than anything else he could think of. Like the carved obsidian space Shadow Masachi had inhabited, wide patterns curved over it, glowing a faint red when they approached.

Ryuji shrugged his shotgun off his shoulder and clutched it in a ready stance as he came to a stop behind Morgana. “Weird wall.”

“Just watch,” Morgana said, his toothy grin glittering despite the dim lighting. “Lady Ann, everyone…” He stepped up and touched the carved stone. It rotated and slid away.

Akira’s phone chirped. “A new area has been confirmed in the depths. Updating guidance information.”

Akira stared down the new but still descending escalators. “A gate?”

Morgana danced in victory, either unhearing or ignoring Akira’s question. “Yes! I knew it!”

Akira came to a stop next to the catperson, ears straining. “Haven’t you been through here before?”

“No. The last time I came here, it wouldn’t budge.” Morgana’s ears drooped. “But somehow I _knew_ something lay deeper beyond it.” He shook his head and straightened. “There’s no way Mementos would stop at some ordinary place like this.”

“For real?” Ryuji held his arms out to gesture at the gloom and crystalline corruption along the outer walls. “You’re callin’ _this_ normal?”

Akira rolled his eyes, then turned to their guide and gestured down the inactive escalators. “Well, shall we go?”

Morgana’s eyes widened and he stood in place. “But… I only brought you all here to see if we could open that gate.”

Ryuji pumped a fist in the air. “Woo! Mission accomplished. Let’s go have ramen.”

He turned for the dead escalators up, but Ann crossed her arms. “Well… You did help us against Kamoshida. Carmen’s still feeling strong. Besides, helping you with this still helps us. Didn’t you say Tosa Kotomi was further down?”

Morgana’s mouth twisted and his eyes fell away, elation and concern both in his expression.

Ryuji turned back, looked over the group, then trotted closer and let out a melodramatic sigh. “_Fine_. I guess this is still goin’ after that scumbag mafia dude anyway.”

Akira pointed a finger-gun at the short team leader and made a clicking sound. “We’re all with you, Byakko. Besides, helping you is still helping us pull Shibuya out from under his thumb!”

Morgana looked at the three humans around him, smiled, and gave a nod. “Well, I can’t very well let down my crew of gentlemen thieves, can I?”

“I am not a thief,” Akira whined.

“Sorry,” Morgana said, turning to Ann. “Gentlemen _and lady_ thieves.”

Mementos, Path of Aiyatsbus

Morgana leaped out of the swirling distortion, its churn already slowing. Instead of turning back into the Citroën right away to resume their trek through the dark, labyrinthine tunnels, he held a hand to his head. “Whew, I don’t know whether they’re getting a lot stronger or we’re getting that tired.”

Ryuji slouched against the concrete wall. “You’re tellin’ me.”

“Good job everyone,” Akira said, bringing up his phone to type in the next target. “Mo—Byakko, can you sense Masahiro Tokisumi?”

“Whoa there,” Morgana said, holding up a hand to the boy in the black longcoat. “We’ve been through _four_ Shadows, besides all the things between the distortions. As leader of the Phantom Thieves, I’m calling it a day.”

Akira grit his teeth, but reigned in his temper for the first time in a long while. The light from his smart phone, the brightest in the tunnel, cast a pale pallor across his face, making it easy for others to see the his tension. “But… we don’t have any other leads.”

Ann reached up to squeeze his shoulder. “I know, but we haven’t exhausted all options and we still have more we can come back to. Let’s go home and rest.”

“The doctor will still be there tomorrow,” Morgana said with as much reassuring as he could pack into his tone.

Akira put away his phone, letting out a harsh breath in the near-pitch-black. Morgana transformed into the minibus and the team piled in. Akira rested his forehead on the top of the steering wheel for a moment, taking a deep breath even as a disapproving groan sounding like his mother floated in from somewhere down the tunnels.

“Um… Joker?” Morgana said. “I can’t steer properly if you’re holding onto the steering wheel.”

Only then realizing he clenched on the wheel, Akira jerked his hands away and muttered, “Sorry.”

Ann sat back and looked out the window as they got going.

Akira crossed his arms and watched the headlights playing over the walls so like, and somehow unlike the subways under Tokyo. “Was there anything else to do today, Byakko?”

Morgana slowed more than seemed necessary to make a turn. “There’s another gate like that one we passed through earlier, but I think that might be dangerous in our current state. We’ll come back after we’ve had time to rest.” The others agreed and Akira remained silent as they journeyed back to the real station square in Shibuya. Just as they left it, each person activated the Metaverse Navigator to return.

Hungry as well as tired, the team helped Akira navigate to the Ore no Beko beef bowl shop and they sat down in the restaurant. Ann leaned heavy on one elbow as she ate piecemeal from her bowl with the chopsticks in her other hand. “Whew. I’d have never thought a labyrinth like that hid underneath us. So what was that big stone gate thing?”

Morgana peered up from Akira’s school satchel, on the floor between their stools. “That’s probably the best thing you could call it. Something about the public’s cognition was keeping me out. I just wonder if things changed enough so the next gate will open for us right away.”

Ryuji jammed a long octopus tentacle in his mouth, the curled tip dangling out as he chewed the base. “I thought you didn’t have any memories.”

Ann pushed herself up from the counter and glared at him, too tired to show revulsion for the crass behavior. “Ryuji!”

Ryuji shrugged his shoulders defensively, but sucked in the rest of the octopus tentacle.

Morgana’s ears drooped. “My memories _are_ foggy, but I know _something_ is down there. If I can deal with the greatest cause of distortions, maybe I…”

Akira burped, then went back to his sliced beef. “Hey, we were looking for something too when you first helped us. Besides, helping you is still helping us with this crime investigation. We’re all in this together.”

Ann gave a relaxed smile and nodded. “Yeah.”

Akira glanced to his side and elbowed Ryuji.

The ex-track star coughed on his rice and failed to wipe away the look of indignance before he said, “Yeah, yeah. You may’ve just been pokin’ around, but if you’re helpin’ us, we can help you too.”

Ann popped a pale shrimp in her mouth and added, “We’ll help you get your human body back.”

Morgana’s ears curled and twisted in different directions as he averted his eyes. “I… I just needed minions. Don’t think too much into it!”

Ann picked up a clump of rice, her eyes unfocused. “It’s neat that we can make people have a change of heart even if they haven’t become twisted enough to have a Palace. I just hope there’s nothing too dangerous in there. It’s already got its own sort of problems different from a Palace.”

Akira nodded, swallowing a large bite of beef. “And this could be _great_ for intel, but I thought of one problem.” He leaned to look down at Morgana. “You said those four will all have a change of heart, like Kamoshida?”

Morgana stretched up, sniffing for the shrimp. “Yes. That’s why their Shadows faded away. They were forced to a realization. Their suppressed self, as defined by their old Treasure, could no longer exist.”

Akira pursed his lips. “We might need to leave some of them in case one lead turns out to be a dead end, but being able to learn things without alerting the conscious person could be a _huge_ advantage.”

Ryuji gnashed down on another tentacle. “Only if it helps us get the big fish.”

Akira pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the date. “Well, you guys need to rest, and midterms are right around the corner. Let’s make sure we all pass our exams first.”

Ryuji groaned, almost planting his face in his bowl with his flop of protest. “Shit, man, I gotta study.”

Akira gave him a flat stare. “Yeah. It’s almost like I’ve been inviting you to study for the past three weeks.” When Ryuji tisked and returned to his calamari and octopus bowl, Akira picked up the last slice of beef in his bowl. “You guys have my number if you want to study or meet up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morgana claims that he needs somebody else to drive him during the introduction to Mementos, but in canon speeds away with far more force and dexterity than the Haru who wanted to stop and talk to the Phantom Thieves would have been able to push a minibus. I took that to mean he was fully capable of driving himself, and skipped the unnecessary steps in Daywatch.


	25. May 7th, By Reason of Mental Defect

Persona 5: Daywatch

Saturday, 7 May 2016  
Morning  
Shujin, Class 2-D

Idle chatter reverberated through the room. The door at the head of the class rumbled open, the squeaky wheel guiding it down the track faltering as Kawakami shoved it open. More and more of the students looked up to her in silent anticipation. When she dropped her binder on the desk at the front of the room, all conversation ceased and every eye focused on her.

She scanned the room, something sharper in her gaze today. Squaring her shoulders, she set a hand on her hip. “Easy, everyone. I’m a little early and I’ve got some work to get done before we begin.” Disappointment and relief both flowed through the class before she added, “Kurusu-kun, I do need to speak to you.”

What calm had come to the class fled at his name. The students on both sides of Akira bandied ideas about what crime he was about to be expelled for.

From his comfortable hiding place inside Akira’s desk, Morgana’s ears twitched as he followed the conversations. “Just act normal. There’s no need to raise suspicion.”

Sighing, Akira shoved his seat back and stood. He slid the chair back up, leaving just enough space for Morgana to slip out before trotting to the front of the class.

Kawakami-sensei wrote something in red on one of the literature quizzes from the other day, then covered her yawn with a fist. Finishing with a little shiver, she glanced up at him with some form of concern that only increased his worry. She jerked her thumb at the door, led him out, then closed the door before turning to face him. “There’s quite an uproar with everything around Kamoshida. Detectives are interviewing faculty and the students who called to report him last Tuesday.”

Akira held his hands up, eyes widening and brows rising in feigned shock. “Somebody _else_ reported him?” He shoved his hands in his pockets, expression becoming dour. “I didn’t think anybody else in this school had the balls.”

Kawakami crossed her arms, her narrowed eyes on his. “This is no laughing matter, Kurusu-kun. Detectives aren’t just questioning staff after-hours, they’re interviewing students. And you’re first on the list today. Student Guidance Office. You’re excused from class until they finish, but please don’t say anything unnecessary. Just give enough to answer the questions and get it over with quickly.”

Akira gave a sharp nod, then turned for the guidance office. A single seat rested against the wall a couple steps from the door, but he found his palms sweaty and couldn’t make himself sit in it.

After a few moments, the door slid open. A man in a dressy but worn brown suit poked his head out. He frowned. “Kurusu?”

The transfer student clenched his hands in his pockets. “My _name_ is Akira.” But when the suited man stepped inside, he followed and closed the door behind him.

A stoic detective with a dark, ash-grey suit shuffled paperwork as Akira stepped into the requisitioned student guidance office. He pointed to the chair across the fold-up table. “Thank you for your time. Kurusu Akira?”

“I go by Akira.” His eyes dropped to the folder the detective skimmed through. It felt like the heat in the room turned up when the detective turned a page in the manila folder. Most of his incidents had been brushed under the rug without any formal reprimand. Those who didn’t give up on hearing the name Kurusu did after their phone call to the Institute. “What’s that?”

“Complaints and demerits,” the detective said, taking a long moment of reading before straightening and looking the delinquent in the eye. “It’s standard procedure to research a little about a person of interest before an interview. We were expecting to get to you yesterday, but as part of due diligence I always call to get a sense of an interviewee’s background.” He turned another hand-penned page. “I’ve never had an interviewee with sealed incidents in his background, but your principal confirmed that the expulsion wasn’t the first time you’d gotten into a fight.”

Akira gave a shrug, neither confirming nor denying the statement. He leaned back until it tipped, the creak of metal resonated through its frame.

The detective in brown, standing almost unnoticed in the corner, stepped up and slammed the back of the chair, knocking it back on all four legs. “You’ll show proper respect to the police.”

Akira shot up but stopped himself halfway up and tugged to straighten the chair under him.

Dark Suit cleared his throat, then flipped forward a few pages, tracing his retracted pen down the handwritten pages and reading in a moment of silence. “Witnesses report you had a dispute with Kamoshida-sensei?”

A huff escaped Akira’s throat and he scratched his temple. “When was that?”

Dark Suit’s eyes flicked to the side of the page. “Thursday. The fourteenth of April.” When he met Akira’s eyes next, they held a laser-like intensity.

Straightening in his chair, Akira folded his hands on the table and swallowed. “Oh, right. That was the day Suzui-ch—san was driven to suicide.” His hands curled tight, his heart thundering in his throat. “That bastard _raped_ her. I knew it the instant I saw her eyes as she lay there, splayed on the packed turf.” His hands trembled. “She was scared. She was hurting, violated like _I_ never was even by my old bastard. But she didn’t want to die.”

Dark Suit scribbled onto the notepad next to his file. “This Suzui-san and you were close?”

Blushing despite himself, Akira’s eyes fell to the ground before he shook his head. “I… wasn’t sure where I fit in here. It was still the first week of school.” Settling in his seat, he took off his glasses and wiped the lenses before settling them back on his face. He wasn’t wiping away any tears. “She deserved better than she ever got here.” Akira flexed his shoulders. “Kamoshida on the other hand… when he started bawling up there on that stage and asked for someone to call the police, it was the _least_ I could do.”

Brown Suit took a heavy step closer, lip twitching up. “So what about your fight on the fourteenth?”

The familiarity of the hostility brought a smile to his face and Akira held up a hand with his index finger extended. “The _alleged_ fight.”

Dark Suit sighed, flipping a few sheets back while holding his place with his finger. “According to witnesses, you said at a very loud volume, ‘you rapist pig’.” He shot a nonplussed look to Akira. “We’ve already got enough witness statements that a recording would be unnecessary. Kamoshida himself has already given a thorough statement. Could you skip the whole ‘alleged’ dance and give your side of events?”

Akira slouched in his chair, tapping his fingers against the table. He wasn’t sure if he should be disturbed or comforted that his heart rate slowed to a steady at the familiar setting of adults trying to bear down on him. “He fucked me by leaking my record, then he _literally_ fucked her. And I’m s’posed to be quiet about it? Damn right I said it for all Shujin to hear.”

Brown Suit with his brutish lack of restraint and Dark Suit’s ‘we already know everything’ play tag-teamed Akira as he told most of the day’s events until his voyage into the Metaverse.

Brown Suit crossed his arms. “You were seen with that girl’s friend later. The cute one with pigtails.”

The image of the two girls sitting across a corner from him in the cafeteria sprang to his mind. “She’s Suzui-san’s friend. And nice in her own right.”

Brown Suit grumped and they spent the next few minutes talking him in circles about his time in Tokyo. About other students. About the teachers. He had little to say about most of them, Kawakami was the only one who knew his record for sure but climbed off his back.

After what felt like hours, Dark Suit gave a nod and closed Akira’s file. “I’m sorry for taking so much of your time.”

Akira slumped back, feeling more like he just finished a champion fist-fight against Big K than an interview.

Packing up Akira’s file, Dark Suit glanced up. “One last thing. What do you think about the rumors of the Phantom Thief?”

Akira stopped, hand on the door handle. “I don’t know if Shujin should throw a parade or if we should all come wearing black.”

Brown Suit scratched his head. “You’re not a fan, even with all the loose ends this tidies up for you?”

Akira stared at the door handle. “Pity not the land that breeds no heroes. Pity the land that needs a hero.”

Brown Suit snorted. Akira stepped outside and closed the door. Energy sapped from the interview, Akira leaned against the door. When he heard faint voices, he turned to listen in.

“Think he could be involved?” Dark Suit said, shuffling papers.

Brown Suit chuckled. “He’s all mouth and no control. No way could he have blackmailed Kamoshida.”

Akira pushed off the door and headed back for class 2-D. “Not guilty by reason of mental defect.” He let out a bitter chuckle. “This far away and the old bastard’s still got me wrapped up.” He reached into his pocket for his phone, to the screen with the Nav, then put it away. He muttered, “Why’s it so hard to live _right_?”

Saturday, 7 May 2016  
Evening  
Yongen-Jaya Station

The train trundled to a stop, and the doors slid open with jerky motion. Akira dove out and widened his pace to keep ahead of the crowd. Everybody else seemed too absorbed in their little worlds to notice the transfer student with a metaphorical storm cloud hovering over his head. How many of them jogged on to their fathers’ abuse?

Akira growled, grit his teeth, and slapped his transit pass against the reader on the turnstile. As soon as he paced through, he broke into a jog.

Before he even got to the narrow alley weaving to Leblanc’s street, a little boy dashed out of it and turned around with an irritating, happy smile on his face. “C’mon, papa!”

A man on crutches paced out after, a grin on his face. “I’m coming, kiddo. Not so fast.”

Akira hung back, watching until they disappeared into the public baths. A smiling child and his father. Why did that feel so alien?

The bell rang as he pushed open the door to Leblanc and trudged in. An overweight woman snoozed over the booth table, the only occupant left besides the proprietor working on a crossword puzzle.

Sojiro looked up at the bell, but settled into a resigned pose after he recognized the transfer student. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Akira, sounding even more monotone than he intended, “but I haven’t mastered the art of spontaneously becoming Risette when entering small businesses.”

“Ugh,” Sojiro spat. “I’m not asking for a song and dance endorsement deal, just… try practicing common sense things you’d do whenever you want something from them. Give a service smile, say hello, that kind of thing.”

Morgana looked up at him from within the satchel. “Boss has a point. By getting better at getting people on your side, you wouldn’t have to work so hard at being on guard all the time.”

Akira grunted and muttered, “Not like people aren’t inclined to stab you in the back anyway.” He trotted up the stairs and changed out of his school uniform.

Morgana hopped up on the stack of ‘books to keep’ and curled his tail around his feet. “Why don’t you go downstairs and see if Boss has any other helpful advice? You’ve been moody all day, maybe it’ll be good for you.”

Akira rolled his eyes, but it was either that or get more lectures from the guide-trapped-in-a-cat-body. “_Fine_. Anyway, it’s not my fault we haven’t found any solid leads on that yakuza boss.” Walking downstairs, he heard the bell jingle and noticed the napping woman gone and Sojiro stirring the curry. Akira slipped his hands in his navy-blue shorts and leaned against the fridge. “So, uh… you want a hand down here?”

Sojiro gave a smirk, but beyond a short exhale he gave little further response. After the spoon finished another circuit in the delicious, aromatic curry, he lifted it out and tapped clinging drops back into the pot. “There aren’t exactly any customers in the way. How do you feel about the different bean types?”

Akira flexed his fingers, still feeling tension in his limbs from the day at school. Even after the interview, if felt like everybody was waiting for him to lose it. “Well, even though they’re more expensive it looks like you mostly have the Arabica variety.”

The corners of the owner’s lips turned up and he set down the spoon. “You’ve got a good memory. Come over here.” He waved and paced to the narrow glass containers sitting over a flame. “Fundamentally, coffee’s not extremely complicated. It’s in the details where the problems arise.”

Akira snorted. “Just like families, then.”

Sojiro’s gaze slid from the coffee grinder sitting beside the siphons. “Families are all about relationships you can’t entirely control. In that way, they’re even worse than politics.” He tapped a shallow tin measuring cup against the grinder outlet, then drew out the tray and dumped it into a small compost waste bin under the counter. “Same as poker. Even life, when you think about it. You can only play the hand you’re dealt.”

Harrumphing, Akira paced to the sink but stopped before turning the water on. “The world doesn’t give you what you want unless you grab it by the throat and _take_ it.”

A chuff emanated from Sojiro and the transfer student turned a glare on him only to see the adult smiling. “C’mon, kid. Relax. Nobody gets respect with threats and force.” His smile vanished. “I had a… coworker who thought that way.” Sojiro shook his head and picked up a polishing rag. “That’s _fear_.” He picked up a siphon over an extinguished flame and wiped at it.

“Though fear goes plenty far.” Akira turned back to the sink and started on the dishes.

Sojiro pointed the siphon at him. “Fear only gets you what you want as long as you’ve got that sword of Damocles hanging over them. There’s plenty of ways of getting things. You trade shifts. You talk your way into getting that last pocky stick.”

Akira nodded. “You buy that car or that minister spot.”

“Hey!” Sojiro said, his snap lacking genuine hurt. “Government positions can’t be bought.”

The student’s flat stare could’ve crumbled granite. “Tokyo University up for any smartass off the street?”

Sojiro paused wiping the coffee siphon. “Okay, I’ve gotta give you that one.” He resumed wiping. “You’ve got a lot of unusual opinions for a high-schooler. Not what I would’ve expected for a probate waxing philosophical about fathers with a cat.”

“Hey!” Morgana said from underneath one of the bar stools.

“So, I’m a freak.” Akira shrugged and wiped at a plate with a blob of dried curry. “My mother and old bastard taught me a lot about what I _don__’__t_ wanna be.” Finishing with the few remaining dishes this late in the day, he rinsed his hands and shut off the water. “Isn’t that everybody?”

Sojiro shook his head. “I can’t believe that Kurusu would’ve raised a kid who talked like that.” He scrutinized the student as he put dishes away. “Isn’t there _anything_ good you learned from your parents? My mother taught me how to cook and my father taught me how to keep the supplies up but the budget down.”

Akira paced down the bar, positioning the sugar shakers at even intervals. “The only thing my old bastard passed on was attention to detail. And if I could be as laid back as Ryuji, I’d trade for it even if it came with his _lack_ of attention.” He turned on Sojiro, feeling heat spread over his face and chest. “I don’t get what it is with you people always thinking I should worship the ground my old bastard walked on. Fuck, knowing someone should be basic grounds for _not_ liking them, but _especially_ him. He never read me bedtime stories, or took me to the beach. Everybody’s always on about how nice or generous dads are s’posed to be, but his version of generous was saying ‘I’m not even charging you for the electricity.’”

The bell on the door interrupted Akira’s rant, and a middle-aged man in a cheap sweater trotted in. He bore a smile, but his pace was measured and his eyes scanned the shelves behind the counter with an appraising look Akira knew from hanging out with plenty of thieves at Inuri. The chubby man waved a hand at Sojiro. “Been a long time, Sakura-san! A pity you didn’t tell me you had a nice place like this. Great location.” His eyes paused only a moment on Akira. “And you’ve even got help this late, business must be good.”

Sojiro came to a stop halfway to the register, folding his arms and making no move to hide his glare. “What’s your order?”

Akira quirked an eyebrow at Sojiro’s lack of hospitality.

The man in the sweater crossed his arms and trotted in a few paces, pausing to take a deep sniff. “Amazing how smells bring back memories, huh? Smells like you’re still stuck on her.”

Sojiro’s hand tightened into a fist and his jaw clenched.

Sensing something strange, Akira stepped up to the register and pasted on a fake smile like Ann did. “I’m Tatsumi. Who’re you?”

The overweight man’s smile dimmed, and a piercing gaze swept over the transfer student. “Isshiki. Me and Sakura-san go way back.”

Sojiro came to a stop behind Akira, arms crossed tight. “You here to order anything?”

“Tsk, tsk,” Isshiki said. “You didn’t used to be so cold. I just thought I’d drop by.” He brought his hand to his brow for brief moment, the motion too sloppy to be a clear anything salute. “Be seeing you.” He turned and trotted out.

Akira turned around to see Sojiro fuming, something out of character for the adult who _had_ to have a stash of cannabis hidden somewhere. “Who’s the scout?”

Sojiro jerked, as if only now noticing the student wearing the green apron. “Scout?”

“Scout,” Akira repeated, leaning against the bar counter’s inner side. “I’ve seen plenty of people scoping out a mark. You have insurance, right? Against burglary?”

One corner of Sojiro’s lip pulled up, but at least his crossed arms loosened. “Well, at least you got the right general idea of Isshiki.”

“Isshiki… Like the head of research, Isshiki-sensei?”

Sojiro’s jaw clenched, and he forced his molars apart before flexing his jaw. Tension lines still stood out on his neck. “You’re _too_ attentive to detail sometimes. Yes, he’s Wakaba’s older brother. If you see him again… don’t trust that smile.”


	26. May 8th, More of a Challenge

Persona 5: Daywatch

Sunday, 8 May 2016  
Morning  
Kanda Catholic Church

Akira sat back against the pew, pondering the day’s lesson. As the other parishioners left, he muttered to himself, “I wonder if _I__’__d_ believe seeing somebody I knew died days ago.” He crossed his arms, thinking to the troop’s misadventures in Kamoshida’s castle. Even now the events in the Metaverse seemed surreal, how could he expect somebody else to believe it when _they_ hadn’t seen it?

“Oh,” he heard Hifumi say from beside his pew. “Examining the paintings?”

Akira gave a nervous smile, not wanting to correct her. “I’ve got a lot of things on my mind.” He scooted over to allow her plenty of room.

She sat with a prim posture that made him feel sloppy, then looked out at the paintings around the altar. “I’ve always thought of a good shogi player like an artist. Just like a master painter has a place for every stroke of the brush, a shogi player must find ideal placements for each piece to bring the strategies to life.”

“Just like a chef looks for _just_ the right combination of spices to bring a soup to the next level,” he said.

She nodded with a subdued but genuine smile. “Care for a match?”

He scooted a little further so she could set her board down, finding a smile of his own forming. Another chance to prove his mettle. “Anywhere, any time.”

They set up the board. As they began, Hifumi’s posture and expression changed. The uncertain, demure girl was replaced by a bold, merciless queen. “Vanguard of my Togo Kingdom, trample them!”

Trying to look ahead, he winced at how many of his pieces she threatened. He moved the bishop up to back up a knight.

Her dark green eyes seemed to spark with energy deep within. “You think to protect yourself with that paltry defense?” She let out a laugh any TV villain would be proud of. “It’s useless!” She picked up a silver general of her own and captured the bishop he brought out to reinforce the knight.

Akira ground his teeth, already seeing his options collapsing before him. Throwing caution to the wind, he took his knight and captured her lancer.

She only sat straighter, a pleased smile on her face. “You have only awakened the dragon! Consume them in shadowy hellfire!” She moved up her other rook and captured his rearward knight. “Can you hear the wailing of your soldiers?”

He knew that she had him out-maneuvered, but if she thought she could psych him out, she’d discover _two_ could play at that game. He lifted a pawn. “The steel of my robot army may break under your forbidden magic, but it knows no fear! My battle droid ambushes your bishop.” He took her piece and placed the pawn where it once stood.

Hifumi jerked straight. Her eyes flicked from him to the board once before a deep blush spread. She covered her face with her hands. “I-I did it again. I’m so sorry.”

The sudden attitude threw him for a loop. Something bitter and heavy recoiled in his stomach at the strange change. “Huh?”

She pressed her hands over her face despite the extent of her embarrassed blush. “It’s a bad habit I have.” She lowered her hands but looked away, her cheeks almost purple. “W-while teaching me shogi, my father gave me image training exercises to help me remember the rules. I would look at the board like my own kingdom, and make up stories for my…” her eyes fell on her pieces, “…subjects.”

Akira leaned back against the pew. Something about the bashful display struck a disharmonious chord in him, even though the logical part of his mind tried to say it wasn’t embarrassment of him. Fighting the tension throughout his body, he waved a dismissive hand. “So you’re like the queen of your own little kingdom. I don’t see anything wrong with it. Even Clausewitz said rules were guidelines for thinking men.” He swallowed, but his mouth opened again despite his brain trying to stop there. “If you’re never aggressive, you’re not alive.”

She turned wide eyes on him, her blush fading. “Y-you don’t think it’s weird?”

“Pfft.”

Fiddling with her fingers and looking away, the corners of her mouth still turned up. She pushed her hair back over her ear. “I know very well people make fun of me, especially on the internet.” Her smile faded. “They say I’m a nerd, or crazy. I can’t say they’re necessarily wrong.”

Akira sat up, leaning to get back into her peripheral vision. “Then I’ll say it. They’re wrong. Your self-confidence needs to start with _you_, the world will catch up. If they don’t get it, they don’t deserve your time.”

She gave a twisted smile that sent his stomach into flips. “W-well, your positivity is a welcome surprise.”

He shifted to the edge of his seat, seeing nowhere she couldn’t easily counter and give herself an even stronger position. Growling, he reached for his king. No matter which flank he tried to strike, she always had a counter. No matter which move he tried, she not only had a counter to it, she welcomed the attempt. Again and again. “Teach me to be like you.”

“Hm?” She tilted her head, her omamori-style knot dangling, but that didn’t take away all the sting of him losing yet again.

Akira swallowed, wishing he hadn’t blurted that out. “Listen, I hate being bested, but nobody’s put my back against the wall _and_ given me opportunity every time like you have. Teach me to play like you.”

Hifumi straightened, contemplation behind her eyes. For a moment, he thought he just crossed the line and she was about to reject him when she covered her mouth with her hand and giggled. “You’re strange, but I feel like I’ve already learned new things from our matches. Of course I’ll continue to play.” She held up a hand, with one finger extended. “On one condition.”

Akira sat forward in his seat.

“Seeking to become a professional shogi player, I am often seeking to try out new moves. On frequent occasion, I will set up a certain circumstance and we shall play from there.” She straightened the straps of her Sunday dress.

Akira smirked. “Like I said earlier: any _where_, any _time_.”

Her eyes gleamed and her smile sharpened. “Be careful what you wish for. You may find more of a challenge than you expected.” Her phone buzzed and she took it out to check a text message. “My apologies, I will have to be going.” Hifumi met his eyes, a firmness in those deep green orbs. “Practice for next time.”

The intensity in her gaze sent a thrill up his spine and Akira brandished his best smirk. He gave a showy bow while still seated. “If I can’t match you at shogi, I’ll bring in go. If I can’t do it there, I’ll bring stratego.” His gaze sharpened. “I _will_ bring a worthy challenge, Queen Togo.”

She cracked a grin that lit the flame of competition in his chest. “I look forward to it.”

Akira stood up, feeling more energized than the last time he chugged an espresso, but without the nausea and jittery muscle movements. The two packed up and headed out, his pace only increasing until he found himself running all the way to the train station. Next week couldn’t come soon enough.

Sunday, 8 May 2016  
Daytime  
Shibuya Diner

Akira set his umbrella in the holder and took the steps two at a time to get up to the second-floor diner. Open wood framing gave the restaurant a more spacious feel.

Mishima spotted him first, waving from a booth several tables down. “Hey, Akira-san!”

Papers and the world geography textbook lay open on the table in front of the class representative, but Mishima focused on his smartphone. Akira slid in and set the bag with Morgana hiding inside at the end, then waved the cat out. “Study time, furball.” As he set up, he looked at Mishima. “So what’s got you so busy? Worried about the midterms next week?”

Mishima looked up, lines underneath his eyes a sign of many nights of too little sleep. At least the eyes didn’t have that distant, dead look like their last rooftop rendezvous. “I’ve got to keep up on the Phantom Aficionado website.” He finally looked up from the phone. “You’re finding it useful, right?”

Akira glanced out at the restaurant, all the other patrons too absorbed in their meals or conversations to pay the high-schoolers any attention. Uncertain exactly what the class representative’s tone insinuated, he prodded, “Uh… what exactly do you mean?”

Smiling, Mishima leaned over the table. Were the table not separating them, they might be forehead-to-forehead. A quirk on his lips, Mishima looked Akira in the eyes. “You and the other Phantom Thieves.”

Akira sat straight, looking around for signs of observers. “Shh!”

Mishima’s smile faded. “Don’t worry, I can keep a secret.” His shoulders drooped. “I’ve got so much to make up for.”

Akira opened his world geography book. “Hey, Kamoshida’s already down.”

One side of Mishima’s lips quirked up for a moment, but then down. For a heartbeat, a dulled look of despair settled over the class representative’s face. Then he sat straight, a wooden smile and determined square to his shoulders. “Kamoshida was a special kind of evil, but there are so many more rotten people out there. That’s why I have to manage the website to collect all these problems.”

Recalling his own blinding need for vengeance, Akira nodded. Sounded like Mishima found his way of grappling with letting his girlfriend fall victim to Kamoshida. “We’ll bring justice to them, Mishima-san.” He looked down at his notes, with many penciled-in question marks. “But right now, I think we need to focus on passing midterms.”

The two settled into studying, Akira ordering barley soup when the server passed by. The transfer student smiled at the sense of academic rivalry, though Mishima’s grasp of mathematics felt only a little better than his own. After a few hours, a pair of cops sat down at the booth behind him.

A grey-speckled cop with crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes sat heavy in his padded seat. “And I thought that pervert teacher raised a ruckus.”

The young cop slid into his booth seat and tossed his hat to the end of the table. He brushed a hand over his hair to straighten it. “I wish they’d just give us the go-ahead. At least most of the foot-work there is done.”

Curious, but sensing opportunity, Akira opened a record app on his phone.

The older cop sighed and set his hat on the seat next to him. “I don’t know if they’re going to lock up half the teachers at that school or let ‘em off scot-free, but if just _one_ more person comes out with suspicions of covering up abuse, someone’s lookin’ at jail time.”

Neat Hair huffed and reached for the hot pepper shaker. “A thousand yen that gossipy bitch loses her teaching license. No way she wasn’t in on the cover-up.”

“No bet. That’s for sure.” Old Cop lifted both hands in a “whatever” gesture, and let them fall with heavy thumps. “Either way, they’ve got me runnin’ all over the city interviewing students for those damn detectives. I wish I had _your_ duty comin’ up. Protection detail may be boring, but at least it’s nice and quiet.”

“I _wish_ it was still babysitting that stuck-up artist,” Neat Hair whined. “Haven’t you noticed all the suits crawling over the station since that drug dealer was found in a barrel?”

Grey leaned back against the booth seat, making it creak. “I recognized one of ‘em from the special prosecutor’s office. What’s all that about?”

“Drug ring in Shibuya,” the younger one said as if the words tasted bitter. “Some dealer named Tosa Kotomi was found in a barrel. Water in her lungs and defensive wounds on her arms and legs.”

Akira froze, his stomach turning in knots at the news of the death of one of his changes of hearts.

Neat Hair went on, unaware of his audience, “TV’s callin’ it a new wave of drug violence and the mayor’s comin’ down hard on every department to find a breakthrough.”

Grey let out a disgusted noise. “Trust me, rookie. There ain’t gonna be some easy scapegoat for this one. She sent letters of apology to her druggies with names of bunches of her druggie dealers. Dunno who blabbed to SIU, but now they think it’s some big break in a yakuza case they’ve been stalled on for years.”

Mishima opened his mouth and Akira snapped a “silence” finger to his mouth.

A waitress came to the cops’ table and set down a plate of fried pork rinds.

“Ooof.” Grey paused to focus on the server. “Grilled fish and rice. Doc said I gotta watch my cholesterol.” He turned back to the other cop. “You better get used to havin’ suits runnin’ roughshod all over the precinct. Them bastards are _relentless_.”

Neat Hair nodded. “I’m gonna be walkin’ around all day for a while. Get me the steak special.” Turning back to Grey, he added, “They’ve got me tapped for two arrests tomorrow, and I heard they pulled guys from that artist’s detail. That exhibition’s been pushed back a week.”

“And that’s if they don’t get any more leads.” Grey snorted. “Just as well. I only heard a hustle like this once before and it had everyone workin’ overtime for _weeks_. At least we’ll finally get to cleanin’ up _Shibuya_.”

“What’s wrong with the artist?”

“You’ve heard of somethin’ too good to be true?” Grey said. “That guy’s one. You hear how much his painting of the fields north of Sapporo went for? No way is that guy a starving artist.”

Akira closed his recording and paced to the bathroom, bile clawing in his throat.

Somebody just died.

One of _his_ changes of hearts just died.

Monday, 9 May 2016  
Lunchtime  
Shujin, Kobayakawa’s Office

Makoto finished reading the text about another student facing blackmail in Shibuya, then slipped her phone back in her pocket and knocked on the door before entering the principal’s private office. Despite her tension from the number of duties waiting on her, she came to his desk and stood straight. “You asked for me, Principal Kobayakawa?”

Capping his calligraphy pen, he looked up at her with a more haggard expression than she’d ever seen on the almost always cool-and-assured principal. “Makoto-chan. How is the progress of the teacher blackmail I asked you to look into?”

That knot in her back tensed. “Well, everybody is talking about Kamoshida-sensei. Plenty are talking about the Phantom Thief, but there’s so many wild rumors…”

Kobayakawa shifted his head to change the angle he looked up at her, then to the trophy case, then back to her. His chins jiggled as he yanked his chair closer, though his girth prevented him from scooting in any further. His eyes were wide and sweat glistened on his bald head. “_Nothing_? You _have_ to have _something_! Anything!”

Makoto flinched away from the intensity of his shout. She rubbed at her forearm, staring into the texture of the carpet. “I’ve narrowed down a lot of the impossibilities…”

Kobayakawa slammed his hands on his desk, causing pencils to jump in their mug and rattling his nameplate. “How many students could control a teacher? The police and other teachers are both up in arms. The school board is breathing down my neck, and police are hounding my teachers. They want answers _now_. Was Kamoshida the first? Who’s next?”

“I can’t _make_ evidence.” Makoto clenched her eyes. Whispered accusations in the halls and detectives questioning Kiriko’s teachers made it harder not to wonder who knew what. Swallowing, she looked back at the sweating man dabbing his forehead with a cloth. “What about you?”

The principal froze, sweat rag in hand. “Hm?”

“Shiho wasn’t the only one,” Makoto said, her stomach quailing. “Was Kiriko-san a victim too? How many others?”

Setting down his sweat rag, Kobayakawa swallowed and took a deep breath. “I can see this is a difficult time for you. For the student council president to have to hold together the school after one of her fellows… one of her juniors attempted suicide.”

Makoto’s breath hitched in her throat.

Kobayakawa leaned back in his chair. “School is a place of binaries. The successful and the unsuccessful. Where all people feel ill at ease and light grows dim, or where all students can feel at ease.”

“That’s it?” She clenched her hands. “What if there isn’t a Phantom Thief and it was all just a conveniently-timed hoax? The calling cards were _four days_ before that strange confession. _One_ anomaly does not make for a readable pattern. What—?”

Kobayakawa sat up with sharp suddenness, slapping his hands down on his desk and looking her in the eye with an intensity that made her look away. “I’m sure your sister would have had no problems with this trouble. She would have devoted her energy to her duty and conquered it. Not gotten lost with tangents.”

The air of finality felt choking to Makoto. “I… Yes, sir.”

He smiled. “Very good. We all want to make our family proud.”

She bowed, fearing her knees would give out any moment. “Yes, sir.”

His personal cell phone rang and he waved her to the door.

Makoto left, her cell phone pleading with her for help against a growing scam ring in Shibuya warm in her pocket and the principal’s orders causing a cold lump in her stomach.


	27. May 9th, In the Grove

Persona 5: Daywatch

Monday, 9 May 2016  
Early Evening  
Shujin Library

Akira jotted down the list of names of Meiji Era leaders, adding who served for who. Not-hushed-enough conversations about him flitted back and forth among the reading tables. He glanced out for signs of the officious red-eyed girl who chewed _him_ out for making noise in the library. Bitch.

He turned the page, only to catch a clear snippet of one of the conversations. “Can you believe that Kamoshida didn’t expel him when he had the chance?”

Gathering his things, Akira stormed out. With the sun sinking behind the skyscrapers, darkness crept across the streets. Most days he would cruise through the shadows enjoying the illusion of freedom, but with exams drawing near, he couldn’t catch that elusive sensation. Everything reminded him of some obligation or looming test question.

When his phone buzzed, Akira almost dropped it in his haste to grab for any distraction.

[Yo,] Ryuji texted, [You're not getting an early drop on studying for exams without me, are you?]

Akira quirked an eyebrow. Ryuji thought cramming a couple days before the midterm tests was early?

[You gotta help me!]

Despite himself, the transfer student chuckled. “I could go for a group that actually _wants_ to study.”

Morgana chuckled from the Akira’s shoulder, reading in on the text app. “As if that dummy could _help_ study.”

Akira shook his shoulders, forcing his guide locked in cat form to retreat back to the school satchel. “Hey, every little bit could help.” He shot out a message asking for a location to Ryuji.

As expected, it wasn’t school. [Dude, there's this super cheap yaki cart on the south side of Inokashira Park. The takoyaki is delicious!]

Akira ran his tongue over his teeth. Not having worked up the nerve to ask Sojiro for permission to use the kitchen to prepare his lunches, and unable to afford buying lunch at school every day, Akira felt like he was running on empty. Overriding his concerns about getting studying done, his stomach growled. [Want to meet at the train station?]

[Sure, dude.]

Akira put away his phone and Morgana grumped the whole train ride there. Ryuji met Akira in a ragged, sleeveless T-shirt several sizes too big, matching the maroon sweatband around his head. “Yo!”

Akira looked him up and down. “I thought this was a study session, not running session.”

Ryuji laughed and bounced on the balls of his feet. “Heh, I just went out to keep the ol’ heart pumpin’. You know how it is, sittin’ inside with video games right there…”

Akira adjusted his satchel straps. “Ryuji, midterms start on Wednesday. My student contract has me on academic probation. If I fail so much as _one_ section, Shujin’s gonna boot me. I’ve got nowhere else to go.”

Ryuji settled down on his heels, eyes holding on Akira’s for a while. “For real? They didn’t even hit me with that when the King of Assholes broke my leg and stuck me with assault.”

Akira’s stomach grumbled again, the unpleasant bubbly sensation rising up higher in his gut, and he gestured out to the street. “So this yaki place got seating?”

Ryuji grinned. “Sure, dude. C’mon.” He led him a short jog through the park to the road along the south end. Tranquil green sprawled out on his right side while high-rise buildings lined the road to his left, except for a notch of covered seating shared between two small restaurants, with a food cart against the street. The breeze picked up and the one salaryman eating there folded up his squared styrofoam container and ran off.

“Hey, Vietnamese Pad Thai.” Akira slowed to read the closest restaurant’s advertising, allowing Morgana the opportunity to jump out and seek shelter under another table.

Ryuji brought his jog to a halt in front of the food cart, sizzling under its wood shutters. “Meh, that place is overpriced. _Here__’__s_ where the good stuff’s at.” When the cart owner kept snoozing despite the raised volume, Ryuji kicked the owner’s foot. “Yo. You got any takoyaki left?”

Moving with mechanical, practiced motions, he flipped open two wood panels before giving Ryuji a shake of his head.

“_Man,_” the track team star whined. He snapped straighter, his grin back full force. “Crab croquettes?”

The cart owner covered his mouth with his long, white sleeve and yawned before looking into another covered container. He shifted back to the track star, giving two slow blinks. “How many?”

Ryuji pulled out his wallet, perfectly aligned pearly whites gleaming through his smile. “How many you want? I can getcha today.”

Akira squirmed for a few moments, fidgeting with his black leather gloves. “Eight.”

Ryuji’s eyebrows vanished into his messy blond hair and he let out a brief whistle. “Your momma don’t feed you?”

Taking in a deep breath, Akira struggled to hold a wooden expression, but his eyes still narrowed. “Easy not to when she’s not there.”

Eyes widening, Ryuji’s hands clapped to his head. “Dude, I forgot about your…” His eyes flicked to the cart owner struggling to keep his eyes open, “circumstances. I’m sorry, for real.” He drew his wallet and opened it to flick through the yen bills. “Uh, six for him and three for me.”

Taking the money, the cart owner stood off his cushioned stool and made change from a flimsy lockbox set into the top of the cart. He fashioned flattened patties and flipped them in a bread crumb mix before flicking open a metal panel covering a metal griddle. He pulled a bottle of some kind of oil out from a door beneath the griddle and dumped some on, then dropped the patties over the sizzling liquid. The scent of real crab and toasted breadcrumbs made Akira’s mouth water and stomach grumble. The cook pulled a metal spatula from its hook above and flipped them, baring succulent, golden brown. Moments later, he swiped them off the iron to paper boats and cleaned off the griddle before returning to his stool to snooze against his lockbox.

Akira joined Ryuji at one of the tables under a broad, metal umbrella, and wasted no time stuffing his face.

The runner watched Akira for a few moments before popping one of his fried patties in his mouth. Three-quarters of the way through chewing, he asked, “Your ma ever make these?”

Grimacing at the blond’s open mouth, Akira chewed his fourth crab croquette and swallowed. His eyes drifted up for a moment. “I can’t think of a time she ever cooked. That’s why I taught myself.”

Ryuji’s phone buzzed, and he drew it, reading from the screen before swallowing and typing and sending a response.

“Anything important?”

“Nah,” Ryuji said, slipping his phone away and planting an elbow on the table. “Ma just wanted to know when I was gonna be home for dinner.”

Akira opened his mouth around a fifth croquette, then set it down, a different sort of twist in his stomach. “I’m not so good about perspective with parents. You talk to her a lot?”

“Yeah.” He looked up at Akira with a twist in his eyebrows. “Don’t you with yours?”

Akira looked away. “My mother… taught me more what _not_ to do than what _to_ do. Back in middle school, when we lived in podunk nowhere… seemed like she was out at one of the parties at the Ichijou place all the time. I knew Nana Saitou better than her, and she was so old she could hardly hear.” A sour note twisted his lips and stomach as he remembered the hope when they moved. “She _abandoned_ me to my old bastard so she could go live it up. The last time I spoke with her I was trying to get her to take me away from my old bastard.”

Ryuji scratched his head, incomprehension in his features. “And…?”

Shoulders drooping, he tossed another croquette in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “She said ‘Why should I give up the prime years of my life?’”

Ryuji stared at him for a while. “Day-um. I didn’t think moms could even be _like_ that.” He took another croquette and bit into half of it, chewing for almost enough time to mulch his bite. “Mine was always there for me. Up early to make me breakfast, buggin’ me to get my homework done so I’d pass finals, takin’ me to track meets.”

Akira ate his last patty, brushed his hands, and brought out some books in silence.

Ryuji took Akira’s math notebook in hand and flipped through it, pausing at the numerous pages of handwritten notes stuffed here and there. “Duuude, you must be, like, top in your class.”

Akira snorted. “You’ve never seen me scrambling to finish a quiz. You know Usami-sensei marks us down depending on how long it takes us?”

Ryuji chuckled. “Yeah, she teaches math for 2-B, too. Ma didn’ believe me about her until she met her at the school festival last year. Now she thinks Usami’s nuts.”

“She doesn’t seem so bad to me,” Morgana said, hopping up on the rounded bench next to Akira. “Very strict, but also very informative.”

Akira snorted. “Well, your math sense must be better than mine.”

The two students sat down with Morgana watching over them as task-master and studied until the sun went down and the brightest stars struggled out.

Tuesday, 10 May 2016  
After School  
Shibuya, Central Street Taihei Bookstore

Akira counted out the last few yen coins into the tray, then slid it over to the old lady at the counter and picked up the book with Hachiko on the cover. He thanked the old shop hand before turning to the chaotic mob outside. His palm sweat against his new book and his heart thudded in his chest. Checking his phone, he realized it was still early and Morgana would still be cruising Shibuya for at least an hour.

Sucking in a deep breath, he stepped out as if preparing to set foot on the moon.

The door to Scarlet flew open and a girl in blond pigtails jogged out.

Already forcing his way through people, Akira crossed the street to intercept her before she got to the subway entrance. “Hey, Ann-san.”

She stumbled and almost missed him in the sea of dark-haired, dark-garbed males. “Akira!” Straightening her school satchel over a jacket he’d have sworn she plucked fresh off a designer store, she smiled. “I didn’t expect to see you out here.”

He huffed, then shoved back at somebody who shoulder-checked him while jogging down the sidewalk.

Ann reached out to take him by the elbow and pull him out of the crowd. “Maybe you and I should go somewhere for a while.”

Akira’s face heated up, before he remembered her close friend Shiho and he turned away in shame.

Her grip faltered, but she held onto his arm. After a beat, she gave a gentle tug. “Just for a bit? I could _really_ use a study partner. I am _so_ not looking forward to midterms tomorrow.”

Guilt and a sense of duty to his friend, for Shiho’s sake if not all of them, stirred inside until he gave an assenting nod.

She let out an excited sound too short to call a proper giggle and pulled him into the crowd. Pedestrians on the phone and the news helicopters above pressed down on him as the mass sucked away his air. His knees felt weak and his pace stumbled once before she pulled him up a set of stairs and several floors up to a crepe bar.

Akira let out a heavy breath he didn’t remember holding in. “Isn’t there a crepe shop down on street level?”

“Uh-huh,” she said, adjusting her satchel on her shoulder. “But you looked like you were afraid of the crowds.”

Indignity flared inside and he barked, “I’m not afraid of crowds!”

The one other patron glared at him for several seconds before she went back to daintily cutting away at something thinner than a pancake and smeared with cream.

Ann stepped up to the order register, bouncing on her feet in gleeful anticipation. “Two chocolate-cream crepes, please.”

Akira switched his satchel to his other shoulder. “Oh, you don’t have to get me anything.”

A tinge of red touched her cheeks and she said in a faint whisper, “Those were for me.” She recovered her enthusiasm in the blink of an eye. “What would you like?”

Staring up at the menu hanging above them, he realized he hadn’t even looked at it and searched as fast as he could. “Uh, the strawberry whipped-cream-cheese?”

When Ann started digging around in her satchel, he pulled out his wallet and held up his other hand to stop her. “I’ll get it. You _did_ get me out of there.”

She waved him down. “I invited you, and I know how tight things are with money right now.” Her smile turned sharp. “Besides, you need to help me study.”

He shrugged, not feeling up to the obsequious deny-three-times his mother told him was tradition. “Thanks.”

Taking their orders to a small booth in a cozy corner, both scarfed down their orders before hitting the school books for a while. “I am _so_ glad I ran into you today. Shiho and I used to study together all the time, and she was always so good with Japanese literature.”

“I bet Kawakami was pleased.” Akira turned a page in his textbook and jotted a quick note about Numata.

“She didn’t start teaching until this year,” Ann said, running her finger down one line, then pursing her lips. She braced her elbow on the table, then set her chin on her palm and sighed. “I’m worried about her.”

“Miss I-Look-Like-I-Want-To-Sleep-In-Class?”

Ann perked up in confusion. “Huh? No, Shiho!” She fiddled with her wood pencil. “I should have believed in her from the start. Told Kamoshida off from day one and trusted that she’d hold her own because she _earned_ it. Maybe she saw that I didn’t trust her enough to say what was happening, so she didn’t tell me about what was happening with Yuuki-kun either.”

Akira clicked out another millimeter of pencil lead. “How’s she doing?”

Ann sighed, her eyes staring down at her textbook. “I’m worried about her. I hope it’s just being cooped up with casts and pins and everything on that hospital bed, but she’s been… angry.”

The image of her splayed out on the courtyard turf sent a chill down his spine. “I can see why she’d be pissed.”

Ann looked Akira in the eyes, her forehead creased. “Akira, you don’t understand. She’s _never_ angry.”

Akira shot her a look.

“Okay,” Ann rolled her eyes. “She’s been annoyed before, but she never _stays_ ticked. It’s just not _like_ her. She always had so many ways to burn off steam. Or she’d just talk to Yuuki-kun and she’d be all back to normal. I _never_ saw her mad, she never even _got_ that far.” She set down her pencil. “But Sunday, she wouldn’t even _talk_ about Yuuki.” She bit her lip. “How’s he doing, anyway? You said he was about to copycat her jump, but he’s been avoiding me lately. Or he’s really short with me and more interested in whatever code, forum, or news is on his phone. It’s not like him.” She let out a melancholic sigh.

“Hey,” he snapped to interrupt her descending spiral. “Shiho’s in a rough spot, and being there for her is all any of us can do for her. Mishima’s…” Akira ran a hand through his frizzy hair. “He feels guilty as hell about what happened, keeps talking about making up for it, but I wonder if he’s really _dealing_ with it. He knows where her hospital is, right?”

“Yeah, room number and everything,” Ann said, sitting back from her books. “I texted him the first time I visited, but Shiho’s mother said he’s never been by.” Her gaze fell. “I was kind of hoping that he’d step up and start seeing her again. Then I wouldn’t have to worry about how long it’s been since the last time I could get up there.”

Akira scanned her face, not liking the degree of guilt trying to etch lines into somebody far too young to have such worries. “What’s up? Trouble at home?”

Her phone sang and she straightened, reading whatever message came through. “Speak of the devil.”

Akira tilted his head.

She glanced at him before going back to reading. “It’s an email from my agency. They want me to do a shoot up in Ikebukuro.” Ann’s eyebrow rose. “Weird for them to ask for me to double-check time and place.”

Akira readied his mechanical pencil again. “Don’t most businesses just tell you where and when to show up and that’s it? You’re late, you’re out?”

“I’ve been doing a lot of substitutions whenever they’ve got something in Shibuya. Apparently quite a few models haven’t shown up for scheduled shoots.”

Akira winced. “Well, they can’t want to be models that much if they don’t bother to show up.”

She shot him a brief hooded gaze. “It’s not all their fault. I heard one model crying about not being there because she received a change in schedule and thought it was another day. The crew have to do a bunch of scrambling, and substitutes aren’t cheap even when they’re available. And that’s besides how much it throws off the staff for them to be all ready for one girl when a sub shows up.”

“I bet it’s no fun for the girls getting yoinked all over the city.”

Ann shrugged. “It’s not so bad. _My_ first modeling gig was as a sub, after all.”

Akira looked at her, trying to imagine Ann as something other than a model. His mind refused to conjure her as anything other than the tall, blonde, pigtailed friend of Shiho sitting at the table across from him. “Was somebody absent like you’re getting now?”

Ann leaned forward, bracing both elbows on the table. “Not quite. We were still back in Finland at the time. Mom and dad do these super cool shows – they’re both fashion designers – but they just couldn’t get enough people to this one show and I was there, so they adjusted some of the dresses for me and out I went.”

Akira scratched his scalp, the story sounding like plenty of other people recounting warm stories of people who actually _wanted_ to visit their parents, and having parents who liked having them around. “Must be nice to… get to do fun stuff with your folks all the time.”

Her shoulders drooped. “It is while they’re around. With the way the fashion industry is, they’re always jumping from country to country, so I only get to see mom and dad half the year.” She sat straighter, painting a smile over her face. “But that’s there.” Her eyes swept over a sheet of review. “So what was the theme of In the Grove, again?”

He looked at her askance. “Even if people _can_ convey the truth, they _don__’__t_. Each person has incentive to change the narrative to suit his own ends. Even the murdered man.”

“Wow, you didn’t even check your notes for that one.”

Akira looked away, unable to withstand her blue gaze. “It’s my favorite book. And one of Japan’s top novels.”

Ann gave a small nod and the sense of scrutiny vanished. Then she paused and looked under the table. “Hey, where’s Morgana?”

Akira flinched, then dug around in his pockets for his phone to check the time. “Crap! He’s still out scouting.”


	28. May 13th, While You Were Testing

Persona 5: Daywatch

Friday, 13 May 2016  
After School  
Shibuya Diner

Akira scribbled down the final calculation and checked the derivative against the original equation. Seventeen on one side, minus eleven on the other. He dropped his mechanical pencil on the math book and let himself fall forehead-first onto his practice for tomorrow’s math midterm exam, glasses pressing against his face. “Math was invented to make people unhappy.”

Alliance Force Assemble sang out of his phone, so he pulled himself up off the table covered with books and papers. Akira slipped his phone out, glancing at ‘Doc’ on the ID. “No job too small, no fee too large. Scoundrels for hire, this is Hugo First.”

“You certainly lose none of your wit over the phone,” Takemi snapped. Something thumped on corrugated cardboard. “It’s Masa. Be here, but don’t be seen.” She cut the call, and seconds later sent a text with an address and time.

“Hm. I think Doc’s calling for overwatch.” Akira paused, hand in the bag, fingertips against the cloth-covered cardboard serving as a false bottom. Brandishing a sub-machine gun should be enough to surprise any street gangers dumb enough not to question how a school-age kid would get one. Add his emergency change of clothes lacking any identifying traits and he might be able to pass himself off as a young hired gun.

Morgana’s ears curled back as he watched Akira pack up. “Joker, much as I hate to point this out, what _can_ we do in the real world? Masa is a gangster – a _real_ one. We’ve got the advantage in the Metaverse, but _he__’s_ got the home field advantage in the real world. You said it to Ryuji. You’re no yakuza.”

“I can’t just abandon someone when the walls are closing in on her,” he ground out. “I am _not_ letting _another_ Tosa Kotomi happen.” Checking his map, the commercial-district back lot didn’t seem special. While quite a few buildings rose up around the lot, none had convenient access for overwatch. A single narrow lane led to the delivery truck access on a major road where it would be simple enough to blend in with traffic. This late in the evening, the sky darkened, leaving the almost-abandoned parking lot bathed in shadows.

Glad he had the chance to change out of his Shujin uniform, Akira found few places to get a vantage point that also left him close enough to jump into a situation. He ended up climbing on top of a once-white, boxy delivery van and readied his sub-machine gun if he needed to make a threat, then his phone to get what pictures he could. After a short wait, a brown sedan pulled into the nigh-empty parking lot.

It pulled in front of a rusted door marked ‘Staff’, and a man with a leopard-print shirt and pants with loose leggings stepped out. He reached in to take a sheathed knife at least twelve centimeters long and slipped it into his pocket. With only one parking lot light working he had trouble making out the man in dark clothes, but recognized Masa’s voice as soon as he snapped into the vehicle, “Just stay with the car, man. Let me handle the business.”

After slamming the car door closed, he paced to the tall pole the sole working light jutted out from, dropped a brown paper sack at its base, then drew and lit a cigarette. He smoked through that and lit a second before a motorcycle squealed into the parking lot.

Pulling to a stop on the opposite side of the working light pole, the motorcyclist kicked down the stand, dismounted, then slipped off the sleek, black helmet. She shook her short, dark hair before setting the helmet on the seat. She knelt down next to the rigid storage unit bolted over the rear wheel and pulled out a white plastic case just like the one Takemi handed over at the last drug exchange. With her leather riding slacks and jacket, he hardly recognized the doctor.

Pacing closer, she stopped just a couple steps inside the circle of light. Takemi hesitated for a moment before calling out, “It seems a shame for partners in business to go by such distant relations.”

Masa flicked his cigarette away. “The fuck do you care? You never _wanted_ to be in these little… transactions.”

Takemi set the plastic case of drugs onto the cracked concrete pavement at her feet. She crossed her arms over her leather jacket. “Fine. Then hand over the payment.”

Masa slipped his hand into his pocket. “An’ if I want those pills first?”

Takemi glared. “I have expenses to pay, so you _know_ I’ll hand over my share. After trying to stiff me last month, I’m sure even _you_ can understand why I need to count first.”

His lip curled up, but Masa bent down to take the paper bag and tossed it at her.

She opened it, counted, then used her foot to tip over the plastic case and send it skidding over the cracked concrete to Masa. He picked it up, weighed it with his hands for a thoughtful moment, then said, “The head honcho is uppin’ quotas. You better be ready to bring more product when I call in a couple weeks.”

Takemi went stiff, but anger pushed its way to the fore. “Do you have any idea how many hoops I have to jump through to get you _that_ much amphetamine? Any more and I’ll have district investigators poking their noses around.”

“Figure it out,” Masa bit out. He held two fingers to his forehead. “You’re s’posed to be like a smart person.” He turned around and popped into the dark-colored sedan, which drove away without fanfare.

Desperate to move his limbs again, Akira slid to the edge of his abandoned delivery truck and dropped down. “On the plus side, he had a knife but didn’t try anything. Is this what he does every time?”

Takemi paced back to her motorcycle and picked up the helmet but just pressed her hands against it. “He’s always done it up in Shibuya before. _Every_ time. Something’s got to be changing for him to make it here in Minato-ku.” Her leather gloves squeaked as they pressed down on the plastic motorbike helm. “I thought they didn’t have anywhere else to go before.” She sighed and loosened her hands. “You’re as good as your cat at sneaking around, but if Masa makes a move… what can you do?”

Morgana slunk out of the darkness under the delivery truck. “Tell her I’m not your cat.” His blue eyes scanned the doctor decked in leather from neck to toe. “Though… she’s trapped by her situation just like you were with that horrible drunk and the police.”

“Don’t underestimate me.” Akira held up his sub-machine gun so she could see it before he started unscrewing the fake silencer on the faux gun. “Just make sure he has no reason to suspect anything is different on your end.”

Takemi set her helm on the seat, saying nothing for several seconds before she leaned forward to brace against it for several long breaths. Anger and defeat resonated in her pose. “Can I make this right even if I _succeed_ in curing Miwa-chan?”

Letting a moment pass, Akira sat down on the plastic basket bolted to the back of the motorcycle. He looked into her bright brown eyes, but she stared down onto the seat. “Tell me, Doc. Why’d you go into medicine?”

She sucked in a long breath before her eyes drifted closed. “Miwa-chan’s disease was particularly rare. There’s only a few case studies—”

“I don’t mean how’d you get from medicine to _here_. I mean what got you into _medicine_? You’re a general practitioner, right?” Akira slipped his hands into his pockets. When she only gave a nod, he sighed. “Took long?”

Takemi took a deeper breath, then began as if reciting a report to a board of sleep-proof scientists, “Three years at the College of Nursing, Akaishi-cho. Three years at Jikei. Four years residency before I was accepted into research.”

He leaned a little further into her field of vision. “Isn’t the basic med degree four years?”

Standing up from her bike, she crossed her arms. “Yes.”

Akira tapped his foot against the cracked pavement in thought, then froze and flashed her a big smile. “Well hell, that means you even started out at the head of your class. Three years to everyone else’s four.”

Takemi let out a little chuff, but her posture relaxed. “I was already studying medicine, so it’s not that impressive. Not a whole lot to do when you’re a sickly girl spending months each year at a hospital.”

Akira gave a theatrical sigh. “Give yourself _some_ credit, Doc.” He tapped one foot on the pavement before reigning in the tic. “Does it get any easier? Medicine?”

She sat down on her motorcycle seat, looking aside at him. “It does, actually. There’s always a new study, but there’s also only so many things you’re going to see frequently.”

Looking through the photos he surreptitiously took of the exchange, Akira zoomed in on the license plate of Masa’s car. Assuming it even _was_ his car could be a mistake, somebody else was in the driver’s seat the whole time. “Is Leopard Print a lieutenant?”

Takemi snorted, her tension cracking at last. “I would’ve said definitely when I moved into Yongen, but he reaches like a guy angling for a promotion. I saw plenty of those types while I was working on residency at Jikei University Hospital.” She leaned a little bit, spying the pixelated license plate on the transfer student’s phone. “You’re really serious about going after Masa.”

Akira scrolled up a couple images of Masa smoking and thanked Mishima for showing him how to mute phone apps. “I meant it when I said we could come to a mutually equitable arrangement. And so I put a request in to…a friend I know.” He knew they’d need to continue receiving the doctor’s help. “Discretion isn’t a problem, but information is.”

Takemi held an inscrutable look on Akira for several long seconds. “Listen, kid. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the offer, but…” Her dark eyes looked to the cracked asphalt at her feet. “You’re young. You’ve got prospects. I’m just a quack who fucked up big enough to wind up in a nowhere clinic lost in the back streets of the biggest city in the world.”

Pebbles popped as he stood up, but he reigned in his anger. “I’m not some ignorant little kid. I have a conviction for assault.” He turned off his phone and stuffed it in his pocket. “It’s not like I’m very far from these assholes.”

She gave him a side-eye. “_You_ assaulted someone?” Takemi huffed. “I don’t see you being that half-hearted.”

He blinked, then stumbled a step back. “Half-hearted?”

Takemi picked up her bike helmet by the chin brace. “You’re not as guarded as you think you are. I could believe you yelling at some dick in front of a train station. Or killing him in a back alley. But not going half-way for something like _just_ assault.”

Akira’s body felt lighter. Granted, he hadn’t sat down and talked about the debacle with the rich asshole industrialist who slapped him with trumped-up charges, but even they didn’t quite give him such an absolution of the night that ruined his life. Would they? Every one seemed too decent to step into the dirty path his life tread. Even Ryuji wanted to be a straightforward good guy. “Well, if you know that much, you know I don’t back out once I’ve given my word. I said I’d help you with this,” he said, waving his finger in the air. “Do they have peeps following you?”

She closed her eyes. “They don’t need to. I’ve got nowhere to go. Even with all the money I’ve got, I can’t leave until I’ve cured Miwa-chan.” She held her helmet in both hands.

He slipped his phone in his pocket. “You _really_ helped us against…” He paused how to avoid saying Kamoshida. “Against a jackass who put somebody real important to me in the hospital. Do you know _any_ other names?”

Takemi shook her head, then held an inscrutable look on Akira for several long seconds before putting her helmet on. When she spoke, her tone was flat as a windless sea, “Your girlfriend must’ve been real close for you and her to come to the clinic more than once.” She slapped the visor closed, started the motorcycle, and peeled out.

Akira clapped his hands around his mouth. “She wasn’t my girlfriend!”

A cricket chirped and he let out a long breath, brought out his phone, and stared at the license plate, wondering what he could do with it. “We’re running out of time.” Putting the phone away, he disassembled his sub-machine gun and slipped it into his satchel, then walked back to the train station.

Saturday, 14 July 2016  
Morning  
Shibuya Station

Somebody stepping on his heel sent Akira stumbling, his shoe popping off. He swore and spun around to retrieve his shoe before it was forever lost to the morass of Shibuya. Some businesswoman in a striped pencil skirt kicked it and Akira shoved his way after it.

Against his expectations, a tall, dark-haired boy in the white jacket of some other school stood up, the shoe held by his thumb and index finger. “Ah, so you are the source of the unusual phenomena.” When he offered the black street shoe, Akira snatched it and put it on.

Morgana peered out of the bag. “At least say thank you.”

Akira sighed, but the team’s Metaverse expert was right. Nobody would ever do it again if he never showed gratitude. “Thanks.” Both boys moving on, the transfer student muttered, “I wish the old bastard passed on a useful lesson like that instead of a list of known neuro-transmitters.”

Coming to the station for the train to Aoyama-Itchome, Akira spotted the distinctive bad dye job and unkempt hair of his compatriot. “Hey, Ryuji.”

The track star’s jaw opened and he let out a yawn without bothering to cover his mouth. “I was up all night on account of today bein’ the end of exams.”

Morgana popped out of Akira’s bag. “Do you _really_ expect us to believe you were up late studying?”

Ryuji turned the world’s most tired glare at the guide trapped in cat form. “What’s the point? When I realized exams were almost over, I played Star Ocean all night.”

Akira took off his glasses before pressing the heel of his palm to his face. “It’s not that I don’t understand the world bein’ up against you, but how’re you gonna show them up by giving up?”

Ryuji shrugged, but his eyes fell away. “Not like I’m gonna blow anyone outta the water with grades _here_. I got the upper quarter of the class all through middle school, but now? Nothin’s diff’rent if I just fail again.” Ann strode out of the crowd, covering her mouth in a yawn. Something about that perked up the track star. “’Guess someone _else_ was gamin’ late last night.”

The transfer student gave a small wave, getting one in response before Ann brushed at her pigtails. “Just one more day of exams. We’re nearly at the finish line and I wanted to make it a good run.”

Morgana nodded, pride almost smug in his voice, “_That__’s_ the kind of discipline I’d expect from a Phantom Thief, Lady Ann. Way better than the organ grinder’s monkey,” he finished with a chin-nod at Ryuji.

The runner jammed his hands into his pockets. “Like I gotta take this kinda crap from a dinky-brained _cat_.”

Akira nodded, his expression all serious. “Just make sure to donate your head to science when you die, Ryuji.”

“Huh?”

The chuckling started slipping out even before Akira finished, “Scientists haven’t found the perfect vacuum yet.”

Morgana snorted with laughter, but dropped back into the bag so they could finish the trip to Shujin.

Saturday, 14 July 2016  
After School  
Aoyama-Itchome Station

Spotting the unkempt dyed blond hair, Akira headed for the corner of the station, glad for the consideration. Still, the noise pounded him, so he leaned back against the tiled wall and gave the group a solid, post-test greeting. “Ugh.”

Ann threw her hands up in celebration. “Hand me a mike, I need to drop it! Tests are _done_.”

“_Finally_,” Akira blurted as if trying to get something tasting bad out of his mouth.

Ryuji stood a little straighter but left his hands in his pockets. “Tests kickin’ your butt too, huh?”

Akira took off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. “I was thinking the entrance exam was hard, but _damn_. Shujin pulls no punches.”

“It _is_ a big academic school,” Ann said, tilting one head and examining him more than he felt comfortable. “You worried?”

Akira stretched out his shoulder, but couldn’t feel any relief in his back. “I never had so much riding on getting good grades. My student contract has me on academic probation until after exams. If I don’t just pass but also _excel_, I am _boned_. Whether or not Kobayakawa’s still there next week.” He glanced over at Ryuji, browsing his phone with no sign of discomfort from the bustle or noise. “Any leads?”

“Nah,” the runner said, thumb flicking up, eyes skimming the screen for only a moment before flicking up again. “Not as many posts. I sure hope the Phantom Thieves don’t go out like this.”

Akira straightened his glasses. “Well, I’m too wiped out to go to Mementos. Tomorrow’s Pentecost so I have no idea if I’m gonna have time then, but send me a text if you guys run into anything weird happening in Shibuya.”

Pentecost. Sunday, 15 May 2016  
Afternoon  
Kanda Catholic Church

Akira fidgeted in his seat on the pew, waiting for the choir to finish the last song of the day. He knew the liturgy of God sending a helper to the early believers _should_ be uplifting, but instead only felt a twisting sensation of loss in himself. Any day now, that yakuza boss could make the call that would put Takemi on a one-way trip to the bottom of Tokyo Harbor.

The choir came to a sharp halt and a solemn silence spread through the church. Father Sugiyama gave the benediction and the tension broke. The other parishioners packed up their bibles, Mass notes, and headed back into the unforgiving city. The chaotic shuffles of feet and hushed conversations assaulted his ears, but at least the aisle channeled their movements into one ordered direction. Still feeling wiped out from a week of midterms, Akira hung back and looked for Father Sugiyama for this week’s Confession. Maybe that would help lift some of the weight off his shoulders and clear his mind for another shot at finding the yakuza boss’s name.

The red omamori-style knot tied in her hair made her stand out even before Togo slipped through the out-bound towards him and gave a brief bow. Her navy-blue, conservative dress had a looser cut than most of her others, and the green highlighting on it somehow made her eyes seem even brighter. “Akira-san, how good to see you again. What did you think of the liturgy? I always love Father Sugiyama’s lessons on the book of John.”

He bowed back, swallowing at the close proximity to a girl making his heartbeat race. “I’m not sure I agree that there’s nothing to be done with another’s sins. When God told Moses to take a headcount of the Israelites, they all had to pay an atonement tax.”

She held her Bible and shogi box behind her back, her eyes drifting up for a moment. “Exodus chapter 30, as He gave the specifications for the Tent of Meeting?”

Akira rubbed his neck, avoiding looking at those pretty green eyes. “Wow, I didn’t even feel that confident when I got to the history portion of midterms this past Friday.”

“Oof,” she said with a sympathetic wince. “We had midterms last week at my school. I was glad to share our game for a change of pace from academics.”

He glanced at the shogi box extending out from behind her back. “Maybe another match this week?”

Her stance perked, that predatory spark lighting in her green eyes. “I _have_ been looking forward to testing out a few moves, and Mother’s allowed me some more time today since it’s Pentecost.” Her eyes flicked over the sanctuary. “Although it can be helpful to practice in different places from time to time. I haven’t even had a relaxing stroll since February.”

“Well, there’s Inokashira Park,” he said, dredging up a mental map from the last time he went running there. Plenty of tables to set up a proper game. “I think there’s a train there less than thirty minutes.”

She gave a warm smile. “Excellent.”

They walked to the train and continued debating Biblical stances on obligation and restitution until coming to Inokashira Park itself.

Hifumi sat with her same prim, proper posture on the time-worn bench and looked out at the lake. “So many things can change the experience of shogi. The scenery, the sounds, the smells.”

Akira took in the scenario she set up on the board, noticing her gold general sat in his capture stack. The faint breeze tugged at the shogi master’s puffy dress sleeves. “You use all twenty senses?”

She turned back to him, brows raised. “Twenty?”

Shrugging, he looked away from those pretty green eyes. Akira rubbed his neck, wishing he could kick his old bastard for raising him with such a screwy, specific knowledge set. “Neurologically there’s… I believe twenty-two senses. Lots of them like pressure, heat, or pain are folded together in traditional parlance.” He clapped his hands together and tried to remember which move he started with last week. “Anyway, a change in scenery does something to change your choice in moves?”

She nodded and settled before the board. “It helps change your frame on your usual sensibilities. Shed light on new moves.” She let loose a dainty giggle. “A little like you, Akira-kun. Like a board with endless potential. I wonder what kind of formation you could become.”

He swallowed, feeling the impression of heat on his face and tore his gaze off eyes deeper than any well. Looking to the board, he settled into calculating his next three moves.

Monday, 16 May 2016  
Lunchtime  
Shujin, Class 2-D

Fatigue from the midterms clashed with the anxious coil of energy tensing inside him from being away from the Metaverse. Giving Ann a small wave to be sure she was okay, when she gave a nod and looked back down to her phone he decided to leave her to whatever text absorbed her attention. She seemed busy but not tired, so that was one member recovered enough from midterms to join another sweep through Mementos.

Akira picked up his school satchel and held it open to allow Morgana to slip in without being seen, then walked out of the classroom packed with boisterous conversation. Mind already working on preparations for Mementos, he stood up to find a quiet place to strategize with Morgana. With the number of people in the hall he knew the courtyard would no longer be a safe place. He turned to the roof.

Blinking in the glare of sunlight, he let out a breath of relief at the peace and quiet. “So we’ve only got a matter of time, a couple weeks at the _most_ until Leopard Print tries something stupid.”

When his vision adjusted, he realized a girl knelt down in front of the rows of planters. Her winter Shujin uniform made her look like every other girl in the school, but that curly brown hair looked familiar. “Oh, hello. I didn’t realize anybody else came up to the roof.”

In the privacy of his own mind, he cursed at the lost opportunity to strategize. Certain she heard him, Akira swallowed and back-tracked the conversation to be sure he hadn’t blurted anything incriminating. He remembered she called herself Haru, but drew a blank on her family name. Best not to look too forward, just in case she was in cahoots with that officious girl with the hairband. “Oh, uh, hi. Senpai. You come up here a lot?”

The upper-classman clasped her hands, her eyes sizing him up with a strained energy behind them. She reminded him of Toyohisa, looking for something and expecting not to find it. “When Kiriko-kun stopped coming to the Flowers and Gardening Club, all the other members lost interest. It wasn’t fair to the plants to just leave them up here to whither, so I had to take care of them.” Setting his school bag on the ground to let Morgana out, she still caught him hopping out. “Oh, you bring your pet cat with you to school, that’s adorable!”

Morgana shot a smirk at the transfer student and swished his tail with a purr.

Akira shot him a frown. “Go ahead and laugh it up, fuzzball.”

She giggled. “Did you come up here for lunch? Don’t let me stop you.”

Glancing from her to the planters, he wondered how reliable meeting on the rooftop would be. After a short prayer, he took out a container of spiced rice and chopsticks. “You up here a lot?”

Her lips pressed together and her brows drifted closer. “At least once a week. There’s really not much difference between here or somewhere else.”

Akira snapped up from his rice, eyes wide. “No difference? It’s actually _quiet_ up here. It’s like an island of peace surrounded by the rat race.”

Haru looked down with a faint but bitter smile. “It is strange how energetic some of them can get. It’s not like the company will grind to a halt if somebody comes in an hour late or leaves off a TPS coversheet.”

He swallowed his mouthful of rice. “Yeah, but you can be guaran-fucking-teed that if you’re _five_ minutes late that you’ll get an hour of ass-chewing.” Akira took a large bite of his rice, but when he thought he saw a hint of condescension in her smile, he swallowed and went quiet.

She brushed at her hands and gave a tenuous smile. “Well, it was nice talking to you, but I’m afraid I have to get cleaned up for class. See you later.”


	29. May 16th, Blackmail

Persona 5: Daywatch

Monday, 16 May 2016  
After School  
Halls of Shujin

The student population thinned, few people noticed Akira’s departure from the library. Adjusting his school satchel’s straps, he trotted down the stairs, his eyes on his phone as he scoured the internet for news on Tosa Kotomi. Not one place mentioned her by name, and the toll was starting to wear at him. At least if people were talking about her in specific, he would have one place to worry about. Lacking that, every drug deal and back alley beating left the question of whether it was her. Could he have stopped it?

Pressed blue uniform swelled into Akira’s view behind his phone. Grabbing the rail, he halted his downward momentum just before he crashed into the blue-garbed man preceding Kawakami up the stairwell, but dropped his phone in the process.

Straightening his ironed uniform, the cop stared into Akira’s eyes. “You know where Chouno-sensei is?”

Akira dashed to retrieve his phone, then pointed down the hall. “Uh… I would guess the faculty office. Second floor.”

The police officer grumped, but turned around without another word. “Ma’am,” he nodded to Kawakami before stepping around her.

His homeroom and literature teacher narrowed her eyes. “_There_ you are.” Her brown eyes searched his. “Are you all right?”

Akira felt his heart seize and his hands go cold. He dipped into that familiar feeling of anger. It didn’t take away the burning in his chest, but did stop the trembling in his hands. “You needed to speak with me, Kawakami-sensei?”

The teacher held the railing like she feared she’d fall without it. “Niijima said she can’t find a report of a lost item, so she needs you to fill in the paperwork so they can start the official process.”

Akira’s eyebrow rose and he closed the web browser. “Niijima-san…?”

Kawakami crossed her arms, brow furrowing. “Really? The student council president. She’ll be in her room next to—”

“The library on the third floor,” he finished, having noticed it when returning his book on musculoskeletal structure.

“Right.” She let out a heavy breath, turned, and trotted down to the second floor.

Morgana poked his head out of Akira’s satchel. “Isn’t she that girl with the braided headband? Who’s been following you around since you yelled at the librarian?”

Akira let out long sigh. “Crap. I was afraid she was getting wise.” He headed to the student council room, thankful at least only she was there rather than a panel of her cronies.

Niijima looked up from her seat in front of a laptop on a single folding table, another folded up against the wall next to the chairs. “Ah, there you are, Kurusu—”

“My _name_ is Akira,” he snapped, fists clenching. “I do not go by Kurusu.”

Niijima blinked, a moment of confusion passing through before she composed herself and gestured to a chair on the opposite side of the table. “Well, if we could sit down for a bit?”

Akira took the indicated chair, his hackles rising, and set his school bag onto the other chair beside him. “What’s this all about? I didn’t report anything lost to the school.” He glared at the table. “Except maybe my dignity.” He straightened his glasses. “What would Miss Brown-Noser want with one of us plebians?”

Morgana glared at him from the hidden confines of the school satchel. “_Joker_.”

Her eyelid twitched. She folded up her computer and set it on the chair next to her so she could clasp her hands and look him in the eye. “Why don’t we get straight to the point? Kamoshida-sens—”

“Rapists have no right to be called sensei,” Akira spat.

Niijima’s hands balled, but she kept her eyes and body calm. “The charges haven’t—”

Akira rose, fists banging the table in his anger, Shiho’s broken body in his mind’s eye. “Suzui-san threw herself off the roof, _and_ he confessed. Are you _really_ going to sit there and defend him even after _everything_ that came out? After all the girls he violated? After all the lives he _crushed_?”

Her eyes clenched and her head turned aside for a moment. Niijima drew in a breath, straightened, and looked as calm as ever before she looked Akira in the eyes. “This just highlights how strange it is for Kamoshida to have done all those terrible things, only to come to school one day, confess, and resign.” Her eyes narrowed. “It’s been the talk of Shujin Academy, but it seems like _you_ are the only person unsurprised.”

Sitting, Akira clasped his hands on his lap and tried to project a calm front despite his pounding heart.

“Would you kindly tell me the truth behind the Phantom Thieves?”

From his concealment in the bag, Morgana quailed. “You were right, she knows!”

Akira maintained steady breath. He lied to the police before, he can lie to one little girl. “Didn’t that calling card he left say there was only one phantom thief?”

“It wasn’t clear.” Niijima let a victorious smirk play over her mouth. She pulled out her phone and navigated to a file, then tapped play.

Akira’s voice floated out. “Damn. No Palace.”

Ryuji groaned. “Man, what kind of Phantom Thieves can’t come up with a good guy to heist? We’re never gonna get famous at this rate.”

Ann’s voice came next. “We’re doing this to give hope to the helpless, Ryuji.”

Niijima stopped the recording and brushed her hair back, her smirk spreading. “Now what could such a strange conversation mean?”

Still in bag, Morgana said, “This is bad. Very bad.”

Eyes narrowing, Niijima turned a look like a cutting laser on the transfer student. “How did you do it? Blackmail? Hypnosis?”

Akira shrugged, but his hands clenched on his knees. “All I heard was a couple of phantom thief fans.”

Niijima held fast, looking far too much like a practiced interrogator. Without a word, she scrolled forward on the recording and hit play.

Ryuji’s voice floated out. “Maaan… I became a Phantom Thief ta fight Shadows and help people, not study.”

“That would explain your class ranking,” Akira’s voice mocked before Niijima stopped the playback.

She looked up at him with a soft smile like the cat who ate the canary. “You _really_ want to claim this doesn’t prove anything? I’ve only been following you for a few days, and _I_ believe you three are the Phantom _Thieves_.” She paused to sweep her eyes over him, gauging his reaction. “What would the police think if I were to send this recording to them?”

Red haze shot into his vision. Snarling, Akira bashed the table up to one side and rushed at her.

Shocked, Niijima stood from her chair. His fingers just grazed her throat when she snagged his outstretched hand and yanked to her right, throwing off his footing. She kicked him in the soft spot beneath his knee cap. Akira tumbled to the floor and she braced a knee into the small of his back.

Alliance Force Assemble sang out of his phone.

Remembering his encounter with her in an alley in Shibuya, Akira couldn’t muster the energy to try to turn the tables. That, and she could easily break his arm. “Okay,” he said into the prickly carpet, “I realize I may have deserved that. _I_ may be a jackass, but… Kamoshida was trying to force sex out of Ann for maybe a year. And Ryuji… he just wanted to earn a track scholarship to help ease the burden on his single mother. Those two deserve chances they’re not even being given.”

Niijima’s knee pressing into his kidney wavered a little.

Morgana stood from the bag, tail standing straight up. “Okay, everybody take things easy. We can’t afford to make any mistakes here, Joker. If the police come for you, things would get bad _fast_.”

After long seconds, Niijima straightened. Her knee still pressed into his back. “First, let me say one personal thing. I am _not_ the snitch of Shujin. Or a teacher’s pet. I work hard to get as far as I can and I am _sick_ of people stacking their expectations up against me. Chouno, Arakawa, and _you_.” She paused for a breath, her grip on his wrist tightening. “Can you prove to me the Phantom Thieves are about justice, not revenge?”

Morgana bared his teeth, tail twitching. “Of course we’re just. We—”

“I think that will be rather hard,” Akira said to the girl still braced on him, “with my face in the thinnest carpet ever manufactured by man.”

She didn’t make a clear sound, but he had the impression she frowned at him.

“Well,” he said, smirking. “I know some girls like being on top, but you haven’t even bought me dinner.”

Niijima sighed, shifted off him, then retrieved her fallen phone and stood.

Wincing, Akira got up and righted the table, then his chair, and turned just enough to straighten the table to a right angle with the wall. He reached for his school satchel with Morgana still standing in it, but paused. “You… heard me make that comment about ‘playing Russian roulette with a fully loaded gun’ the day Suzui-san jumped, didn’t you?”

Niijima sat down, posture composed and eyes straight on him. “I heard about you going after Kamoshida in his office, but it was you three meeting after. That and, as I said, you being the only one in Shujin who didn’t seem at all surprised at Kamoshida’s sudden change of heart. I admit, I happened to be in the right place to hear a few things. After I concluded you three were meeting on the rooftop, I hid my phone inside a desk on the roof and let it record your conversation.”

Sitting in his chair, he clasped his hands on the table, looking more at Morgana than Niijima. “Before I agree to anything, I need assurances that you won’t do anything to Ann or Ryuji. I… I never had a real chance to go legit, but they… They deserve a break.”

Niijima’s eyes bore into his. “Do this one thing and I’ll consider it.”

Morgana sighed, then said, “I don’t think you have the leverage to keep Reaper and Lady Ann in the clear. This might be our only option.”

Akira figured that would be the best he could get. “So… how?”

Niijima turned her head to face him and he found himself even less able to meet her gaze. “I want you to change someone’s heart.”

His narrowed eyes snapped to hers. “Who?”

Niijima sat back in her chair, self-satisfied. “Such certainty.” The corners of her mouth turned up, the student council president looking as smug as ever. “So it is possible.” She folded her hands on the table like him. “The mafia boss responsible for the blackmail and phishing scams in Shibuya.” Her fists clench and eyes unfocus. “They _target_ minors like Shujin students. They force us, _my_ fellow students into their scams, their schemes, threaten their families, and destroy lives.”

Akira took off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. “We can’t pick up _another_ target.”

One of Niijima’s eyebrows rose. “Excuse me?”

Morgana’s ears twisted up and down as he thought. “We’re running into brick walls looking for that drug kingpin. I don’t see how it could hurt to add President Niijima’s blackmailer to the list.” His tail shot straight up and his eyes widened for just a moment. “He might even be the same one! It’s not like organized crime sticks to only one crime.”

Akira swallowed against the bitter taste of the leader of the Phantom Thieves agreeing with the conniving girl in front of him. “A… friend of mine is an unwilling participant in the drug trade in Shibuya. The moment she stops doing business, they’ll kill her and dump her in Tokyo Bay.” He set his glasses back on. “I guess we _could_ be looking for the same person.” Gathering his fortitude, Akira looked her in the eye. “So what’s his name?”

“Nobody knows.”

Akira slapped his hands on the table. “Without a name, it’s not even _possible_.”

Morgana’s tail returned to a rhythmic side-to-side swish. “I wonder if the police have anything.”

Niijima crossed her arms. “The police know this is happening, but victims are threatened against testifying.” Her hands closed into fists. “The police _can__’__t_ do anything. _Somebody_ has to.”

Akira spread his hands open on the table. “Even if this is the same dude, trying to go after the fraud _and_ drug rings could get a _lot_ more dangerous.”

The movements of the tip of Morgana’s tail took on a tenser twitch. “I think all of us together can do it. Kamoshida was pretty dangerous, too.”

Akira worked a fist open and closed on the table. “We can’t do it. Not nearly enough information. With Kamoshida, we knew who he was, where he was, and what he was doing. With this mafioso, all we know is what he’s doing.”

Morgana’s ears folded back against his skull. “Then we consult the others. _I_ think this could be a good opportunity. And if we say no, you’ve just got a pissed off girl with a recording of a Phantom Thief meeting.”

Niijima paused to send an arched brow at Morgana, then crossed her arms and thought a moment. “I’ll ask my sister.”

Akira crossed his arms, eyes narrowing and flicking between the diminutive leader and student council president. “I’ll have to bring it up at our next meeting.”

“You have two weeks,” she said, back to looking smug and in control.

He looked her in the eyes. “This sis of yours a cop?”

The student council president lowered her fin from her chin and met eyes with Akira. “She’s a prosecutor.”

Morgana’s tail settled into smoother motion. “Good enough.” He straightened, chest puffed out. “Now say something witty as a parthian shot.”

Akira smirked and spared a glance to the cat. “Something witty.”

Morgana bonked his head on the edge of the table.

Monday, 16 May 2016  
After School  
Shibuya Station

Disgorging from the train, Akira pushed his way out of the quagmire of people. Their hundred cacophonous conversations assaulted his ears and their unhurried, meandering pace forced him into a forest of elbows and awkward collisions. At last, he shoved out of the maze of concrete and tile. Free of the closed confines of the underground subway, the crowds of idiots streaming left and right in defiance of order continued.

Heart thudding in his chest and ears, Akira shoved his way through the plodding morons. Needing some kind of escape, he considered pulling up the Nav and waiting for the others in Mementos. Ann might remember he hated crowds, but he didn’t trust Ryuji to think to check.

He pushed through the crowds to a concrete nook with a storm drain where they came out of Mementos last time. While the location wasn’t invisible, it was easy to get to and from and out of the way enough that nobody paid any attention to it. Safe place to stand found, he looked through the crowd for any sign of blond, real or dyed. To his displeased surprise, several popped out of the crowd but all belonged to other people.

Morgana poked his head out of the bag. “You’re gritting your teeth again.”

“I am not!”

A passing woman slowed and gave him a raised-eyebrow look.

Once she left, Akira drew his phone and brought up the nav. “Niijima Makoto.”

It chirped a low tone at him. “Candidate not found.”

Akira growled. “We need to get everyone together. That mysterious deadline became a hard line.” [Double check to make sure you’ve got your gear for the meet at the nook where we came out of Station Square last time.]

Morgana stretched up to read over the transfer student’s shoulder. “Leave off the particulars. In fact, until we know more, don’t mention your school president at all. No point in poisoning the well. Especially if Miss President is directing us at the same mafioso we’re already after. If we can make use of information she might be able to pass on to us, might as well use it for the betterment of society. Besides, didn’t you say the hearts we changed might be in danger? She could help us with that.”

Ryuji was the first to respond, [Sweet! I’ve been ready to go since Midterm Torture!]

[Ah!] Ann sent. [I left mine at home! I’ll have to run there and back.]

Akira growled, but knew his anger wouldn’t help her along any. It was probably safer for her to leave it home than risk being caught with it when she visited Shiho at the hospital. Closing the chat, he asked, “You _really_ think that Niijima would help us? That we should trust her when she threatened to blackmail Ryuji? Ann?”

Sighing, Morgana shook his head. “Joker, I think we could make use of her. I know she didn’t play _nice_, but don’t we need some kind of a breakthrough to prevent a repeat of that dealer woman you’ve been reading about the past few days?”

“Shut up!”

A pair of salarymen paused mid-step and gave him curious looks before they spied his phone and disregarded him.

Morgana settled in the satchel. “Joker, I’m just saying we can still turn this to our advantage. It doesn’t have to be yet another battle you pick up to fight alone. For now, what’s actually changed?”

Keeping his tone low, Akira said, “We’re on a two-week time limit.”

“But still going after the yakuza in Shibuya.” Morgana scratched at his ear with a paw. “And you admitted yourself it might be the same guy. We might even be able to get more names from her. We might even be able to feed names _to_ her. Those are more hearts to change and people to save.”

The mental image of a bloodied Kotomi stuffed into a 200 liter drum flashed before his mind’s eye. Sensing he’d have no argument the team leader couldn’t easily counter, Akira pursed his lips and brought up an online shogi game to keep himself busy.

Three narrow victories later, Ryuji’s voice called out, “Yo, bro!”

Akira looked up at the dyed blond grinning far too wide for such a crowded venue. He spat, “You’re sure in a good mood.”

Ryuji’s expression cooled. “What’s with you? Most peeps get recharged over the weekend. You miss out on sleep or somethin’?”

Akira finished his move and hit end turn, not liking where the formations were going. It looked like one of his games with Hifumi. Most of the time he felt better after a game with Hifumi, but Niijima’s reminder of the yakuza and Tosa Kotomi left him feeling sick and on edge. That Niijima was sticking her nose in Phantom Thief business only made it worse, but until he could convince Morgana to drop her, it would be easier to keep Niijima to himself. “It’s nothing.”

Tilting his head for a couple long seconds, Ryuji shrugged, then leaned against the concrete wall next to the transfer student. “Well, we’re both here. Ya think we can get movin’ and have Ann meet us inside?”

Morgana’s ears flattened against his skull. “_No_. We still haven’t run into all the surprises Mementos has for us, and even if we fought every enemy we found, Ann could run into Shadows that crawled out of the dark after us.”

Akira growled, but remembered the look in Ann’s eyes when he tried to push them into advancing after the battle against Archangel. Glancing to his phone, he advanced another piece in his online shogi game and hit ‘end turn’. “_Fine_. It took a while to get all the way down _and_ back up last time anyway.”

Morgana relaxed, his ears perking. “There might be a way to speed that up. I’ll point it out to you when I see it.”

Before the transfer student could respond, his phone buzzed with an incoming chat request. Mishima’s ID stared back at him. [Hey. Are you guys busy?]

Akira pressed his back against a thick drainpipe in the concrete alcove. [We're not exactly hitting home runs with finding the name of that mafioso. You hear anything?]

[Nothing beyond the names I texted you yesterday, sorry. Ishikawa-san asked for some help. A couple classmates in the journalism club are being blackmailed.]

Akira blinked, then glanced out at the crowd. A sea of dark hair met his gaze. [I hope you have the blackmailer's name, because we've got our hands full with one stalled investigation.]

[Hashiko Aikiko. She lives in Minato-ku and hung out with Yamada before this blackmail thing popped up.]

Glancing up at his compatriots. “You guys think we can find another name while we’re lookin’ for Masahiro Tokisumi? Probably not connected to our don, but Mishima thinks it could do some good.”

Ryuji shrugged. “If it’s on the way, I don’t care. ‘Still need Ann to get here if we wanna ask her.”

Morgana settled in perch on the transfer student’s shoulder. “No reason why we can’t search for several names in Mementos.”

[We'll see what we can do,] Akira sent back. [By the way, have you been in to see Shiho since she was hospitalized?]

[How can I go see her now?]

Akira’s smart phone clicked as he tapped out a message on its virtual keypad. [There's a train from the Aoyama-Itchome station that only takes forty-five minutes to get up to the hospital. Then you use your feet to walk for five minutes into the hospital and up to her room. Ann said Shiho's mother is there most days.]

[Was she okay?] Mishima texted. [How did she look?]

[She looked like she was worried about her daughter,] Akira sent back. He crossed his feet, brows furrowing as he tried to imagine what the class representative’s game was. [Why haven't you gone to see her yet? Ann said she texted you the hospital room and address five times by now.]

[What right do I have to dig up all that pain again? I haven't even made up for letting Shi-chan go!] Mishima left the chat, giving the transfer student no time to come up with a response.

“Over here!” Ryuji shouted.

Blonde pigtails popped out of the crowd as Ann ran from the station. Stopping and bracing her hands on her knees, she panted for breath, her breasts straining against her shirt. “Sorry!”

Akira looked away, his face burning. “Yeah, okay. Whatever.”

“Okay, everybody,” Morgana said as he hopped out of Akira’s satchel. “Before we go, Joker’s contact found a blackmailer going after the journalism club members,” the diminutive team leader finished.

“Candidate found.”

Akira straightened. “Well, that confirms what Mishima suspected. Hashiko Aikiko is in Mementos.”

“Right,” Morgana nodded before looking back to the lady of the team. “Are you up for going after another n’er-do-well even if it isn’t necessarily somebody pointing us to the yakuza leader?”

Ann nodded. “Anybody who’s shitty enough to make an enemy of Yuuki made an enemy of me. Let’s take her down.”

Morgana smiled. “That’s a unanimous. Okay everyone, into Mementos to track down Hashiko Aikiko.”


	30. May 17th, Victorian Surprise

Persona 5: Daywatch

Tuesday, 17 May 2016  
After School  
Shujin, Class 2-D

As the rest of the class rushed to escape from campus, the sounds of chairs scraping and a dozen conversations crossing over each other assaulted Akira’s ears. Reaching back to the advice Father Motoori gave him before the trip to Tokyo, he took his time and deep breaths as he packed to go. When he scooted his chair back to get up, he noticed Mishima still at his desk, reading about a grisly murder reported in Minato-ku.

The transfer student spared a glance at Morgana, who shifted but wasn’t in a position to give a clear shrug of his shoulders. Or whatever the guide-trapped-in-cat-body intended to show.

Akira gestured at his school satchel, then a thumb at Mishima’s desk and gave a small shrug he hoped conveyed his intention.

Morgana rolled his eyes and pointed a paw at Ann’s seat against the left side of the class.

Watching her stride across the back of the room, Akira pointed at where she was and picked up his things so they could go their separate directions. It wouldn’t be the first time the Metaverse guide wasn’t interested in taking care of things in the real world. Huffing, Akira shouldered his school satchel and stood up with Mishima as Morgana slipped into the crowd unnoticed to go with Ann.

Mishima took the stairs down, giving no sign he noticed Akira following behind.

“There’s the dumbass who went after Kamoshida-sensei!” one boy said as Akira strode past.

By the time they got to the ground floor, Akira had enough of watching the class representative reading about yakuza victims and reached out to grab his arm and stop him. “Hey, Mishima-san.”

The tired student looked up, a despondency that looked too much like Akira’s own when his mother threw him back to his old bastard. “What is it, Kurusu?”

“Just Akira,” he said, though with more volume than he intended, drawing a few momentary looks from students on the stairs already watching him out of the corners of their eyes. He slipped his hands in his pockets. “Akira is _my_ name. Kurusu is how people referred to my old bastard. I’m not him.”

Mishima looked back to the social media on his phone. “Sorry, I don’t have anything new for you.”

When the class representative stepped out into the ground floor, Akira kept pace beside. “Mishima, I’m glad that you’re helping us…” He paused to glance around, then gestured to the courtyard. The class representative went along, but stopped as soon as he got underneath the vending machine nook. Akira sighed. “So… where was I? You tracked down… what was it now, two drug peddlers in Shibuya?”

“Three,” Mishima said, his tone sounding as hollow as his eyes looked.

“Right. But what good is it going to be if you burn yourself out?”

Mishima shot a glare at him, the first strong emotion he’d seen from the class rep in more than a week. Then he looked back to his smart phone with that dull resignation again. “I’ve got to do this. You guys took down Kamoshida. I… I still have to make things right… for her.”

With the relative silence of the courtyard, Akira took a seat at the bench against the corner and waited until the class rep joined him. “Tell me… how’d you meet her?”

Mishima looked up, his attention gone from his phone for the first time this afternoon. He breathed in, eyes gazing unseeing into the distance, but when he breathed out his face didn’t seem quite so tense. “Somebody invited me to one of the girls’ volleyball games. Shiho was at the front, and she was amazing. So graceful and precise.” The corners of his lips twitched. “Everybody playing in the game was trying hard, but Shiho… she was giving every little motion her all. I probably would’ve just watched her for weeks if the guy who invited me didn’t drag me up so he could hit on Ann. She didn’t shut it right down, so Shiho let it go. I happened to be right there and Shiho didn’t want me to feel uncomfortable, so she struck up a conversation.”

Akira felt a pang in his heart. She showed that same genial kindness to him. “What about?”

Mishima scratched the back of his neck. “Phoenix Featherman. Then we talked at lunch a couple days later. Then I started coming to the games just to see her. When she fell and sprained her knee in practice, I was right there to help her to the nurse.” He let out a soft sigh. “She said she was glad somebody outside the volleyball team was willing to help.” The corners of his mouth pulled up. “She laughed so easily.”

“And smiled,” Akira added, a fuzzy sense sweeping over him.

Leaning back against the bench, Mishima let his head rest against the cold concrete wall. “We had to keep our relationship secret so Kamoshida wouldn’t make things hard for her, but I couldn’t see enough of her. I went to every game, every practice. Kamoshida got suspicious, so I pretended I wanted to be a member of the men’s volleyball team.”

Akira turned his eyes to Mishima, looking for tells. “That’s when he started beating you?”

Mishima looked away.

Akira reached out and took the class rep by the shoulder, squeezing until he met Akira’s burning gaze. “Take those feelings, Mishima. Take every smothered scream, every escaped tear, and gather them all deep inside. Use them as fuel to the fire in your soul.”

Mishima’s thin frown twisted, hunching. “You almost sound like Ann.”

Akira snorted. “Well, you won’t help out someone in trouble tomorrow by working yourself to death _now_. Hell, even _Ann__’__s_ worried about you, and she’s like the poster girl for relentless optimism.”

Before the class representative could say anything, Ryuji jogged up with a ridiculous grin. The kind of somebody with a plan.

On guard, Akira stood and turned to him, the class rep doing the same. “What is it, Ryuji?”

The ex-track star’s smile remained undimmed. “Dude, it’s a _perfect_ day for a bro-op. You gonna help me out?”

Akira looked sidelong to Mishima, still unwilling to leave things where they were. “You have any idea what that means?”

Mishima turned to the runner with fake-blond hair, his gaze hooded. “Why don’t you get to the point, Sakamoto-kun?”

Instead of being dampened by the wariness, Ryuji’s grin only widened, revealing bleached white teeth. He reached into his school satchel and whipped out a ten-by-twenty centimeter glossy flier. “It says a cute maid will do anything for you.” He leered. “_Anything_ we want.” Ryuji hopped back and forth on the balls of his feet. “A _maid_!”

Akira turned to Mishima. “Am I the only one in Japan who just doesn’t _get_ the whole maid thing?”

The Class 2-D Representative stared at the pink flier decorated with hearts and girls in short black dresses with white lacy frills. Despite himself, he stood a little straighter, then turned to the transfer student. “I-I think it’s just that. A fetish, I mean.”

Ryuji blinked, shoulders slouching as confusion writ over his face. “C’mon, you two are _guys_, right?” After a moment of scanning them, he slid up to Mishima, smiling wide. “_You_ get what I’m sayin’, eh?” He gave a theatrical wink.

Mishima backed up a step and swallowed, but a rosy tint touched his cheeks. “I, ah… I couldn’t call some cleaning lady to my folks’ house!”

Ryuji wiggled his eyebrows. “No problemo, bro. Some dude on the top floor just moved out so there’s a vacant apartment in my complex.”

Shooting a hooded gaze to the horny blond, Akira slid his hands back in his pockets. “Dude, Morgana would _not_ go for a prank like this and I don’t think I could pick one of the locks around here. Besides, wouldn’t the landlord get pissed?”

“Pfft,” Ryuji waved him off. “As long as people don’t mess up the place, he doesn’t care. And the key’s inside the unlocked mailbox, so you wouldn’t even have to bring those pokey things.”

The crack of flesh on flesh echoed in the corner of the courtyard, and Akira slid his hand from his forehead. “Those are rake picks, Ryuji.”

Ryuji rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” He refocused on the still blushing Mishima. “Whaddya say, bro?”

A faint tremor entered Mishima’s arms, and light glinted at the corners of his eyes.

Too on a roll to notice, Ryuji slipped around to drape his arms on both other boys’ shoulders and shoot them a knowing grin, “Doncha wanna know for sure what it means for a maid to do _anything_ for ya?”

Hands curling into fists, Mishima squeezed his eyes shut and a tear leaked out of one eye. “You think I’d just… _play_ _around_ with _anyone_?”

Ryuji tightened his grip around the two classmates’ shoulders. “Hey, hey,” he soothed. “Think of it as… _research_. We gotta know if they look just as advertised an’ everythin’.”

Surprising both others, Mishima jerked out of Ryuji’s grip, one hand clenching on his phone and the other bunching into a white-knuckled fist. His eyes glistened. “The _one_ I _love_ is in the hospital, crippled by the Monster of Shujin, and _you_ think I would _ever **cheat on her**_?”

Ryuji stared. His mouth drifted open. His head swiveled, stiff, to Akira. Then swung back to Mishima. “_You_… an’ Suzui-san? For real?”

Akira slapped his palm on his forehead again.

Mishima looked ready to let out a roar and start swinging, but after a beat he instead fled.

Ryuji whipped around on Akira. “Da eff…?”

Desperate to keep Ryuji from causing a scene, or start something with Mishima, Akira grabbed the runner by the shoulders. “Uh… You wanna do this maid thing or not?”

Changing mood with whiplash speed, Ryuji stood with his chest puffed out like he just won an Olympic marathon and grinned to match. “Ooh, ooh, we gotta have a codename. It’ll be like—”

“Yeah,” Akira said, distracted. “Text me.” Ripping himself away and shouldering his school satchel, Akira ran at the doors after Mishima. By the time he got to the shoe lockers at the front, there was no sign of the class representative and his street shoes were gone. “Shit.”

“Watch your language, delinquent,” a teacher snapped as he stepped out of the front desk office.

His phone vibrated. Hoping to see some positive sign from Mishima, Akira sighed at the text from Ryuji giving his address, time, and [Operation Maidwatch: starts at dark.]

Akira clapped his hand over his face. “What the fuck did I just agree to?”

“Language!”

Tuesday, 17 May 2016  
Evening  
Sakamoto’s Condo Building, Suite #416

Akira slid his hands into his pockets, avoiding the urge to scratch at the sweater he kept in his bag for an emergency disguise. At least the ashen-grey trousers only looked a little wrinkled from their long time folded up in the bottom of the bag, though they had no few hairs from Morgana sitting on them. He followed Ryuji into a small sitting room looking out onto a courtyard between four condo buildings. Stepping to the sliding doors to peek at the smallest balcony ever built, a small white dog yapped at him from the grass below. He closed the door and turned back to the dyed-blond. “Are we _really_ doing this?”

“Man, if it’s sketchy we just bail. You’re almost as good at runnin’ as me.” Ryuji leered. “It’ll totally be like those spy movies.” He dropped to a low crouch, holding one hand flat above his eyes. “Operation Maidwatch is about to begin.”

Bemused, Akira pointed out, “What are you shading your eyes for at night?”

Standing, Ryuji’s smile faded. “C’mon, man. You’re ruinin’ the mood. We ain’t even called yet.”

“True.” Akira nodded.

Ryuji nodded, slipping his hands in his baggy khaki shorts.

Akira took in a deep breath, then let it out.

Ryuji did likewise.

“Well, if we’re going to do this, I guess now’s the time?” Akira said.

“Yup,” Ryuji said.

Akira looked at the runner.

Ryuji looked at the transfer student.

The small dog outside kept yapping.

“Oh, come on!” Akira groaned. “It starts at four thousand yen!”

Ryuji’s eyes narrowed. “Hey, _I__’__m_ the one who found the flier. And _I__’__m_ the one who set up this vacant place. It’s not like we’re messing with someone’s home.”

Sighing, Akira took off his glasses to wipe the lenses. “I grant that was pretty smart, for you.”

Ryuji beamed. “Ain’t it?” He paused, then blinked. “Whaddya mean, ‘for you’?”

The small dog outside yapped. A nasally male’s voice outside shouted, “Sir Fluffernutter, quiet!” But the little dog continued yapping.

Ryuji drew his phone, “If you’re going to puss out, _I__’__ll_ pay.” He wriggled his eyebrows with a grin. “But _I_ get first dibs on what she does.”

Akira growled and drew his phone. “_Fine_. _I__’__ll_ make the call. At least I’ve got a scrubbed account to make the payment from.” He snatched the flier from Ryuji’s outstretched hand and dialed the number, then tossed the glossy paper back. It flipped and twirled in the air.

A gravelly man’s voice answered, “Victoria’s Housekeeping.”

Leaning uncomfortably close, Ryuji’s grin spread so far the transfer student feared it would fold into a crease and destroy space-time. The runner slapped his hands over his mouth and danced back and forth on his feet.

The gravelly voice continued, “Do you have any particular requests?”

Ryuji snapped down his hands and opened his mouth.

“Anyone is fine,” Akira said.

Ryuji glared.

“May I ask for your address?” the voice said over a woman coughing in the background. Akira relayed the address and door number. “We’ll have a maid right up in twenty to thirty minutes.”

“Right,” Akira said, hanging up. He backed up to see Ryuji bouncing back and forth from one foot to the other. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Would you just _relax_?”

He bit his lip, no longer looking like he was overflowing with eager anticipation. “It’s not that.” Ryuji looked left, then right. “I gotta go.”

The crack of flesh on flesh filled the sitting room, then Akira took his palm from his forehead. “Then _go_. I know water’s shut off in here, but _your_ flat should still be good.”

“C’mon, dude,” he said, still hopping from foot to foot. “I don’t wanna miss a sexy _maid_.” His gaze narrowed. “An’ anyway, why’d ya give ‘em a ‘whatever’? What red-blooded man doesn’t want a little T-an’-A?”

Sighing, Akira removed his glasses to wipe them, then pressed the heel of his palm against one eye in a vain effort to stave off a headache. “Dude, just… go take care of vital functions. It’s not like she’s gonna be here right away.”

Ryuji looked back and forth. “You gonna hold down the fort? Just in case she—”

“Ryuji, of course I’ll be here. The _last_ thing I trust is you alone in a room with a strange woman.”

He hopped to his opposite foot. “Huh?”

Akira considered shoving the ex-track star out when an idea came to him. He breathed in, cleared his throat, then pressed his lips together and mimicked the sound of a large drop of water.

Ryuji blinked.

Akira mimicked another drip.

Ryuji glared.

Akira sucked in a little air and made a noise of a bubble bursting with his mouth. Then he added another sound of water dripping.

Dropping the flier, Ryuji scrambled to the door but paused, hands at his groin, to glare over his shoulder. “You play dirty,” he said before rushing out.

Akira smirked and reached his hands high up to the ceiling to stretch out his back. “Yep, Akira, it’s a tough job, but somebody’s gotta troll ‘em.” The sound of the yappy dog faded and he let out a long breath. With nothing to do, he took out his phone and started an online game of shogi.

A couple minutes later, a knock tapped at the front door.

“That was quick,” Akira muttered to himself, heading up to let Ryuji back in, ready to deliver a tongue-lashing if the dumbass came back without taking care of business.

A slender woman with bushy pigtails using too much hair product stood outside. She wore a frilly maid outfit with a bust window exposing some cleavage and a skirt just as short as Ryuji’s flier indicated. She took the edges of her skirt in her fingertips and bowed a curtsey with a practiced smile that failed to conceal signs of disgust hidden in the lines of her face. “Becky for Victoria’s Housekeeping, Master. I’m going to fill your tired heart full of lovely energy.”

Akira almost dropped his phone. “_Kawakami_-sensei?”

The woman’s brown eyes grew wide as saucers, face turning pale as a sheet. Without warning, she shoved him inside and strode in, pulling the door closed behind her. She advanced on him with her jaw set. “Listen, buster. I _just_ got my job at that school.” Her left eye squinted as she looked him over in the brightness of the empty sitting room, and she set her fists on her hips. “Hey, wait a second. You’re that military school kid.”

Akira burst out laughing.

Kawakami stepped back, one arm up in case he pulled a knife and went from crazy to kill-crazy.

Still chuckling, Akira wiped a tear. “I can’t believe you still believe that routine! Or remember it. I mean, seriously, how many rumors about me are flying around the school?”

She took another step back, looking at him askance and planting a fist on her hip. “Plenty. But besides that one day where the trains were running late, you’ve never been tardy or pulled any pranks in homeroom. So I didn’t give any thought to all those rumors.” She looked him up and down. “How’d you know it was me, anyway? The walkway light wasn’t even working.”

Akira held up an index finger. “I never forget a voice.”

She gave him the stink-eye for several moments before crossing her arms. “You know, you could get in pretty serious trouble for calling an adult home service when you’re underage.”

“Good to know.” Akira looked down at the shogi game still waiting on his phone. He switched to the messenger app and shot a quick text to Ryuji. [Maid service is a no! Bail!]

[Huh?]

The snarl slipping onto his face felt a little too comfortable. [Read the fucking age next time.] “I should’a figured the little troll would’ve screwed something up.” Putting his phone into sleep mode, he slipped it into his pocket to turn his full attention to his homeroom teacher in the most ridiculous getup he ever imagined.

Kawakami maintained crossed arms, doing a pretty fair job of shutting out any clear signals of what she was feeling besides a defensive wariness. “Chouno told you, didn’t she?” She gnashed her teeth. “That nosy bitch has been looking for somebody to sell out since the detectives showed up at the school.”

Feigning nonchalance, Akira leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “She didn’t tell me.”

Some of the color faded out of her cheeks again. “W-well, you’re not going to tell her, are you?”

Akira brushed his fingertip against his nose twice. “Well, that all depends on the offer.”

Kawakami stood straight, fists going to her hips. “I’m in charge of your homeroom. If you’re going to side with a teacher, it should be _me_.”

Akira stood, silent.

She swallowed. “If she finds out you called an adult service, Chouno wouldn’t be the one you’d want to find out anyway. She’ll be just as much trouble for you as me.”

Akira watched, silent.

Her eyes wavered, something withering inside her before her expression twisted into a grimace. “I can’t pay you. I _need_ this job.” She looked away, her left hand taking hold of her skirt. “If you keep this secret from Chouno, I’d do anything!”

“Anything?” he said, raising a single eyebrow. “Four thousand yen is a little bit much. If we cancel this little appointment, how soon can I get my money back?”

She cringed like he’d stabbed her. “Victoria doesn’t allow refunds. You pay by the hour, and once the first hour is purchased it’s final.”

Akira ground his teeth, then froze, an idea coming to him. “You got your phone on you?”

Confusion and a few other emotions filled her eyes, but she still only spared him a resigned glance before taking out her phone and handing it to him. He entered her contact data and texted her an address before handing it back. “Show up here. We’ll see what you can do there.”

Tuesday, 17 May 2016  
Evening  
Yongen, Leblanc Loft

The wood stairs creaked under rapid footsteps behind him, and Akira stepped out to let Kawakami pace up into the attic. Moonlight shone down through the open windows, casting stark rectangles on the bed and floor and throwing relief on the exposed rafters above. The pale light made the dark books sorted out on the bottom of the shelves look bleached. The tarp-covered workbench and plastic bin-crammed shelves seemed to loom even taller than normal.

She stopped, her hands going to her hips as she took in the room. “Ugh, this place is more like a warehouse than home.” She dragged the toe of one shoe across a few centimeters of floor. “Clean, though.”

He paced to the table next to the shelves packed with bags of coffee beans. “Better than the street. Now pick up that end.”

Kawakami crossed her arms. “You didn’t just lure me here to try to do the dirty in a different venue?”

Akira bristled, remembering the rain and his mother’s moans from beyond that locked front door in Inaba. “You can take all those rumors of me and shove them right up your ass. I don’t take after mother _or_ the old bastard. You’re in a housecleaning service, right?”

Her eyes narrowed, and she failed to move for the table.

“So let’s clean house,” Akira added.


	31. May 18th, Hospital Confrontations

Persona 5: Daywatch

Wednesday, 18 May 2016  
After School  
Shujin, Class 2-D

The last bell rang and the class scrambled to pack up. While the class broke into discordant noise of half a dozen conversations, Akira took the opportunity to turn to the class representative behind him. “We checked out those names you sent me last weekend, but two of ‘em were no good. Found anything else?”

Mishima shook his head. “Sorry. We’re getting past the people or places I know. I’ve been talking to Ishikawa and the others, but they’re still getting back on their feet after Hashiko had her change of heart today.”

“Fuck,” Akira spat under his breath. Turning back to his desk, he drew his phone and shot a message to his teammates to get ready for another trip through Mementos. He still felt a little tired from the last one despite taking the day off yesterday, but Ryuji’s misadventure with Victoria didn’t exactly help.

Akira paused.

If Kawakami was involved in an adult service, maybe she’d know somebody involved in the drugs or scams in Shibuya.

Akira bent down to look the team leader in the eye. “I _may_ have another source. Let’s go find Kawakami.”

He found her in front of the Faculty Offices, trapped in an evasive conversation with Chouno-sensei. The English teacher held her arms crossed and eyes narrowed. “…late to almost _every_ staff meeting. You leave work earlier than _any_ of the other teachers. Is this the way that a new teacher serves a school as prestigious as Shujin?”

Kawakami blinked, dark rings under her eyes a testament to too little sleep. “It’s not really so complicated, Chouno-san.” She paused, taking a moment longer to recognize the transfer student’s presence than he expected. “Get home safely, Kurusu-kun.”

Akira’s jaw clenched, but he held his fists behind his back.

When the literature teacher tried to turn for the faculty office door, the English teacher snapped, “We are _not_ finished talking yet!” Chouno said, side-stepping to block the door. “Those detectives are like sharks, and there’s already talk of criminal indictments. _Kobayakawa’s_ already been placed on administrative leave. Police are going around on _another_ round of interviews. They’re questioning everybody who worked with Kamoshida. Even Shima’s been brought downtown.”

Kawakami looked at the door to the Faculty Offices behind Chouno. “The history teacher for third-years?”

Chouno crossed her arms, her shoulders pinching up. “What are you running out to do every evening?”

Akira cleared his throat in the pointed ‘don’t ignore me’ way adults always did when they wanted to interrupt without feeling like they interrupted.

Kawakami looked at him, looking like she’d much rather slink into the faculty office instead. “Did you have _another_ question, Kurusu-kun?”

“Another?” Chouno repeated, suspicious but also ponderous.

Going with the sense of frustration, he tapped that sense of frustration inside. “It’s not like I’ve got to book tutoring appointments for _most_ teachers.”

The dark-hared teacher looked from Akira to Kawakami. “Book appointments? For tutoring?”

Akira held his arms in the air in mock surrender, voice thick with sarcasm. “Oh, right, because _everyone_ here has a second job trying to further education in Tokyo. But hey, why let dedication to a cause get in the way? After all, housing and living expenses are _so affordable_ here in Tokyo I’m sure that a _new teacher_ has _no_ issues.”

Chouno’s eyes wavered until she took in a breath. “I… see.” She turned to Kawakami. “I… suppose I hadn’t considered that. I didn’t get much better than a housing and living stipend when I started teaching here, either. And if you’re taking work on margins as thin as tutoring high school students, I can see why you would spend so much time at it.” She gave a shallow but noticeable bow at the waist. “Forgive me, it seems you _are_ the kind of teacher Shujin needs. Especially now.”

Kawakami blinked several times before processing what she saw and gave a polite, fake smile before bowing back. “Oh, you don’t have to be like that, Chouno-san. Just trying to be the best teacher I can,” she finished with strange tension in her face.

Chouno opened the door and stepped into the faculty office.

Kawakami mouthed, “thank you,” before following her in.

Morgana peeked up at the transfer student from within the satchel. “I’m guessing we’re not going to be learning anything from Kawakami today?”

“M-hm,” Akira muttered before heading to Shibuya to join the others at Mementos. Pushing for something now could ruin things with Kawakami-sensei, but the Phantom Thieves needed a break in the investigation.

Thursday, 19 May 2016  
After School  
Shujin, Class 2-D

Trying to push out the cacophony of conversations from lingering students, Akira stacked his last book into his satchel. Behind him, Mishima slung his bag and stood.

“Hold up!” Ann called. She slipped between the desks, ignoring the handful of students who paused to watch. Hands wringing and shoulders hunched, she came to a stop between the two boys. “I need your help.”

Akira looked up at the tall blonde who helped him fight through Kamoshida’s castle to avenge Shiho. “Sure, what’s up?”

Ann clasped her hands and bowed her head, her teeth clenching for a moment. “I… I’ve been trying to help Shiho through her physical therapy, but she had a bad reaction to one of the pain medications…”

The transfer student’s hand clenched on the strap of his school satchel, but a wide-eyed Mishima beat him to the punch, “She’s not back in the ICU?”

Ann recoiled as if the very prospect punched her. “No, no, Yuuki. She’s okay physically.” Her eyes fell and body tensed even more. “Given the circumstances. They’ve got her on a new pain reliever, but she’s frustrated with the physical therapy. Her mom said some support might help her get through the month.”

“Yeah,” Akira’s mouth blurted before his brain could catch up with all the reminders of his heavy school load and shift at the convenience store.

Mishima partially turned away, his shoulders slouched and his eyes on the floor. “I can’t face her now. There’s no way I’ve made up for—”

Ann grabbed his hands to bring his focus back to her. “Please, Yuuki.” Her brows knitted together. “I can’t do it on my own, and you were her soul mate. You’re thoughtful and sweet. If anybody could get her through this, it’s _you_.”

His brown eyes flicked up to hers, to his feet, to hers, then to the transfer student before settling back to the floor. Akira sighed. “C’mon, man. Sometimes the path of redemption leads through peril.”

Mishima forced his eyes up to the transfer student’s, his face scrunched in pain before he let out a sigh and slipped his hands out from hers. “Fine.”

She let out a relieved whoosh of air, then rushed them to the train station. A handful of other students and workers separated Akira from Ann and Mishima, but he could still make out the morose responses to her attempts to strategize through the forty-five minute train ride up to the hospital. “She really doesn’t give up,” Akira muttered before the doors opened and disgorged passengers.

Like before, Ann led them to the hospital, almost at a run. After checking in, they made their way through the ordered bustle to Room 248. Ann took point into the room of sterile white.

Shiho, her right arm still in a rigid cast, fumbled for the bed remote to prop up the head. Red-faced, long strands of her unbound black hair clung to her skin. She gave a lethargic smile and squeaked, “Ann!”

The blonde bent down to give a quick hug. When Ann stood and backed away, Shiho looked up to him and fought a grimace off her reddened face as she studied his for a moment. “You’re that boy who wanted to become a doctor.” She smiled and reached her good arm out when he stepped through the door.

“I’m glad to see you’re out of a few of those braces.” He paused, looking over his shoulder to see his class representative fidgeting just outside the door. “Come _on_,” he said as he took a deep step to grab and yank Mishima in.

Like the flick of a light switch, the atmosphere in Room 248 changed. Shiho’s forehead creased and her legs shifted under the covers, the braces catching on the sheet. Her eyes widened and she drew a long breath in through her nose.

“Bastard!” she shrieked.

Ann and Akira both drew back in shock.

“You let that monster…” Her arms trembled and she took Ann’s hand. “You let him…!” Shiho dissolved into teary sobs, her right hand clenching Ann’s. One of the machines bolted to the wall behind her started beeping.

Mishima stumbled the few paces left to her bed, but his hands froze in the air like he couldn’t quite decide to reach out for her or up to shield himself. “_No_! I never wanted anything to happen to you, Shi-chan.”

“Liar!” She hurled the wired remote at him, the cord bringing it to a short, anticlimactic clatter against the floor. “You threw me out like chum in the water!” Tears spilled down her face and her veins stood out against her pale skin.

“Shiho,” Ann shouted, her own eyes welling up with tears. “Stop, this isn’t _you_.”

Drawing in a ragged breath, Shiho ignored her to screech at her once-boyfriend. “I hate you!”

Mishima, already wavering on his feet, turned and fled for the hall as tears fell.

Aghast, Ann stared at Shiho for just a moment before dashing after the Class 2-D representative. “Yuuki!”

So confused he felt dizzy, Akira took a step towards the Angel of Shujin. The girl once as optimistic as she was pretty shook in rage. He took one step closer, “Suzui-san, hold on a second. Mishima just—”

“Fuck you!” she snapped, her ragged hyperventilating descending into incoherent sobs.

Several footsteps raced into the room as Akira struggled to sort out the impossible juxtaposition before him. Before he could hope to say anything, a gruff woman shouted, “Out!”

Feeling the room start to spin, he stumbled out as nurses and a doctor came in, trying to placate the raging girl. The hallway stretched out with no sign of Ann or Mishima, so Akira paced the last direction he saw Ann run. The image of a red-faced Shiho, spittle flying from her teeth, messy hair splayed over veins standing out on her skin made her look more like a yama-uba.

It… wasn’t _right_.

Akira crossed himself and prayed that Mishima didn’t do anything he’d regret. “You see which way they went?” he asked the Phantom Thief leader hiding in his satchel.

Morgana stood up and scanned the halls. “I think they went that way,” he gestured with his chin.

The haunting tones of a string instrument playing the theme of the Goa’uld rang out of Akira’s phone and he pulled it out to see ‘Principal’s Lapdog’ on his caller ID. He grimaced, but Ann was hot on Mishima’s heels. If he could trust anybody with the class rep, it was Ann. Besides, he might as well try to see if he could at least make some progress on the yakuza investigation. “Carrie Ann Crowe’s Mystery Meats. You hit it, we grill it.”

“That’s _disgusting_.” A beat passed. “Is this Kurusu?”

“Don’t call me Kurusu!” Akira took in a brief breath through his mouth. “My name is Akira.”

Morgana hung his head, disappearing back into the satchel.

After a moment of distant helicopter noise from her side, Niijima came back, “I’ve been talking to my sister. It took a while to get enough into her good graces to spill details, but I managed to get a few.”

“You know who the don is?” Akira opened the first door he came across, hoping for some privacy, but an old man looked up at him from the bed. “Sorry, wrong room,” Akira said before backing out.

“Not specifically,” Niijima said, her tone cool. “The police have been tracking at least a dozen suspects, but the problem is they all have enough plausible deniability to be impossible to build a case against. However, the dominant yakuza group in Shibuya has been dynamic enough that Big Sis is positive he lives and works there.”

Akira slipped into another hospital room, only for a middle-aged lady to give him a confused look. “Sorry, wrong room.”

He dashed for the next door and opened that to see another elderly man sleeping on the hospital bed. Still, the room had its own water closet, so he closed the hall door as quiet as he could and slipped into the WC, closing that door too before he wrinkled his nose against the stink of old people farts. Privacy at last, he re-focused on the confusing teacher’s pet blackmailing him into the job already in progress. “He’s in Shibuya? That’s _it_? There’s gotta be a quarter million people who _live_ there. Much less the million people around Tokyo who come in during the day.”

“Joker!” Morgana reprimanded as he stood up from the open satchel.

“I didn’t have the luxury of cross-examining her! But if Big Sis says the guy lives in Shibuya, he damn well lives in Shibuya!” She groused for a moment. “All of the most likely candidates own and personally inspect several businesses there, including… establishments of ill repute.”

“What, like a bank?” Akira snarked.

Niijima sighed. “Banks are legitimate, certified institutions, Kurusu-kun.”

“That’s what they said about medical research in Unit 731,” he snapped back.

Morgana reproached, “Joker, we _need her help_. We haven’t even started trading names of criminals whose hearts are about to change.”

“What’s that?” Niijima said before a frustrated growl. “Never mind. Anyway, this yakuza clan’s been harder to track down than others since the latest leader took over ten years ago. Reorganized it and threw the police off almost every murder and assault pattern they were using to close in on them. Fraud, prostitution, and racketeering seem to be their mainstays now. A lot harder to stop when the criminals are technologically savvy.”

Akira looked down to the team leader, who shook his head to indicate those details weren’t enough for a distortion. “Okay, that’s a start, but don’t you have a single name? One of his lieutenants who got off on a technicality or something?”

She let out a pleased huff, something smug and superior about it. “As a matter of fact, I did get the name of one of their recruiters.”

Akira wrinkled his nose again at the pervasive smell of elderly degassing. He’d have to change as soon as he got to the loft. After a few moments of nothing but the smell, his shoulders rising and pinching together, he held out his left hand, jostling the satchel. “_And_…?”

“I want to stand in the meeting, personally evaluate the justice of the Phan—”

Akira clapped his free hand on his head. “Have you never seen Key of Life? Fuck, the whole reason why _you_ know about us is because of a fuck-up with operational security.”

“Operational security?” she shot back, incredulous. “This isn’t a government project.”

“What_ever_. Let _us_ handle the job on _our_ end, and _you_ get information we can _use_ on _your_ end,” Akira snapped, then hit end call.

Morgana sighed. “Joker, you’re going to have to stop being so short with people. I don’t actually think it’s a dangerous thing for her to see one of our meetings. She already knows Ann and Ryuji are members, and if we can convince her to _want_ to help us we won’t have to worry about her after we change this mafia guy’s heart.” His eyes narrowed. “Remember? _Networking_?”

Akira spat from between clenched teeth. “She _blackmailed_ us. _Threatened_ the only people in my life who weren’t complete bastards.”

Morgana wrinkled his nose against the smell and sneezed. Taking a moment to recover, the team leader looked up at him with narrow eyes. “Joker, I was there. You tried to choke her. It makes sense for her to want to do some evaluation for herself. You didn’t exactly give her much to trust us with, and it’s not like _I_ can make a case for the Phantom Thieves to her. At least leave out the blackmail part when we talk to the others.”

“_Fine_.” Akira slipped his phone back into his jacket, straightened the satchel, and strode out into the quiet hospital halls. “Where did you say Ann and Mishima were?”

The guide-trapped-in-cat-form looked out from the satchel, scanning the four-way hall intersection for a few moments before pointing a paw. “That way. I can hear Lady Ann’s voice.”

After a few moments of walking, Akira came to a waiting area filled with bland beige furniture. Mishima cried into his hands, his shoulders shuddering. Ann sat next to him, rubbing her hand in circles against his lower back. Akira stood there for an awkward moment, wondering what to do. Things were so simple at Inuri when he didn’t need anyone and nobody needed him. What did you say to somebody you wanted to be able to see the next day?

Staring at the class representative, Morgana hopped out of the satchel, his tail standing straight up. “Hey!” Akira and Ann stared at the team leader, who shrank back as his ears curled down. “I mean… it does no good to sit and stew over a terrible situation that may have extenuating factors.”

Akira nodded. “He’s right.”

Mishima’s eyebrow quirked up.

“Flogging yourself isn’t going to change the past, Mishima-san.” Akira sat down at a nearby chair and clasped his hands. “If you didn’t sneak a duplicate pack of cards up your sleeve, you’ve got no choice but to play the cards you’re dealt.”

Ann’s hand came to a pause, still resting on the class rep’s back as she sent a narrow gaze the transfer student’s way. “Akira…”

“Hey, I’m just trying to remind that forward’s the only way to go in life,” Akira said, opening his mouth to continue when Mishima lifted his head to look in his eyes.

Voice cracking, Mishima said, “Please, just go.”

Morgana’s ears curled down against his head.

After a few moments, Akira looked Ann in the eye. “Can you make sure he gets home okay?”

She nodded and Akira turned around to return to Shibuya.


	32. May 20th, Strategy Meeting

Persona 5: Daywatch

Friday, 20 May 2016  
Morning  
Shujin, Class 2-D

Akira wrote a correction to his notes in the margin, reviewing his notes for social studies in an effort to keep his mind off the hospital debacle the other day. Even beyond the hurt obvious on Ann and Mishima, he had trouble trying to push out the new mental image of Shiho yelling herself hoarse at the boy who took beatings for her. Most of the time the between-class banter felt oppressive, like summer humidity doing its best to choke him, but something about the burbling conversation flowed at just the right pattern for him to tune it out like a steady rain. It ended up feeling too close to empty silence, leaving him nothing but his thoughts.

The rear door slid open, but instead of Chouno in a dress with padded shoulders, a pudgy man with a receding hairline and conventional business suit walked in, a set of binders in his hands. He proceeded to the desk at the front of the class at a pace somehow combining the speed of a power-walk with the awkward gait of a waddle. Based on the fellow students covering their mouths, he guessed the others noticed too.

The black-haired man dropped his binders to the front desk with a heavy thump, whipped around, then took the chalk and wrote Hashida-sensei. He spun back around and spoke with a northern-dialect twang at a volume Akira previously assumed had to come from a bullhorn, “Listen up, you undisciplined ninnies! I am Hashida. From here on out, I will be the English teacher for Shujin Academy’s second year students. The fact that I am entering mid-term does not mean I am going to take it easy on you. You will have your assignments posted on the school website on Monday. You _will_ have your readings done _before_ class lectures. You _will_ have your assignments completed and handed in to your class representative at the _start_ of every class. Understood?”

Murmurs of assent leaked out of the class.

Hashida roared with no sign the jump in volume took extra effort, “I said is that understood?”

“Yes, Hashida-sensei!” the class chorused.

He spun around, voice still thundering as he wrote on the chalkboard.

Akira took off his glasses to press against one eye. “Oh boy,” he muttered. “We lose a gossip and gain a guy who thinks he’s a drill instructor.”

Friday, 20 May 2016  
After School  
Shujin, Hallway outside Class 2-D

Akira straightened the satchel straps over his shoulder. Without any new breakthroughs from Mishima or yield from Niijima, the only thing in Mementos would be the unending chain of petty yakuza gangers. He clenched a hand open and closed, then stepped out towards the library.

“Hold up, Akira!” Ann called over the bustle of students heading to clubs or home. He paused so she could come up alongside. When he stepped for the library again, she took his arm and steered him toward the front gates. “You mad about Ryuji’s text?”

“Huh? No,” he said, stepping closer to the wall so other students could walk past. “He’s just gotta drop license paperwork off for his mother. That’s why I wanted to hit the books for an hour. Mishima can hold the table if I’m a few minutes late.”

Ann’s eyes widened. “Wait, Yuuki? I thought this meeting was for _us_.”

“It is.” He paused and glanced around. Nobody _looked_ like they were listening in, but if Niijima could get a recording of them, they needed to be more careful. Akira relented and motioned to the front, and they proceeded until reaching the grades. “Oh, shit. I forgot those were out today.”

She stepped around the clump of students standing right next to the grades and scanned the second years. She stepped closed to him, brushing her pigtail off her shoulder. “You did pretty well.”

Akira side-stepped to get his own view, his shoulders sinking once he spotted his name. “Holy crap my grades are down.”

Ann glanced from him to the board. “Thirty-first is _down_ for you? You’re in the upper ten percent of juniors. That’s pretty impressive given that Shujin Academy is stricter about scoring than most schools.”

“Academics have always been my thing,” Akira said, seeing no familiar names ahead of his. Not seeing her name in his glance through the top half of the junior year, he stepped back out and they went their separate ways through the foot lockers and out the front gate.

When she came back alongside, heading for the train station, Morgana popped his head out of the satchel. “Where are we going?”

She clasped her hands behind her back, eyes on the signs above. “I need some time before the meeting.” Ann straightened and looked him in the eye with her old intensity back. “And what did you mean Yuuki would save a table for _our_ meeting?” She leaned close enough he could feel her breath on his face. “The _PTs_ strategy meeting we all decided on yesterday?”

“Yeah,” Akira said, cool as a northern breeze. “He already knows.”

Ann’s pace froze and he had to backtrack a step.

When she gave him a stunned stare he nodded. “Me, and almost certainly you. He was too close to Shi… Suzui-san.”

Ann let out a sharp breath, her lips twisting, but one corner turned up with a hint of relief in her eyes. “He was always as smart as he was sweet.”

Akira double-taked. “I’ve never heard a dude described that way.”

Now she let a smile crack across her face. “Yuuki always did figure things out for himself. Maybe with some help from me and Shiho.”

Akira chuckled. “He did mention he’d’a never met you two if it wasn’t for a chance meeting at a volleyball game.”

“Was it?” She tilted her head a little and stepped closer to let another pedestrian past. Her smile relaxed and her eyes gazed at the distant crowds. “It’s kinda hard to imagine him not being around. Yuuki and Shiho were the only ports of calm in Storm Shujin. He was even the first boy I brought home from school. Granted, that was with Shiho, but mom wasn’t expecting him and she _flipped_.”

Akira found himself faking a smile and laugh along with her. Something tickled the back of his mind and he realized faking his way through the day was the old Akira, the him who got in fights all the time and focused on just surviving his way until Inuri. Ann had his back all the way through the Kamoshida fiasco and never asked him to put up a front.

Her smile faded and she looked into his tense eyes. “What’s wrong? Is it Shiho? I’m sure that was just—”

Akira shook his head. “Sorry, it’s just that… to be honest, I’ve never really understood people who have parents they’re all involved with. I didn’t want anything to do with my old bastard, and my mother never wanted anything to do with me.” He spread his hands. “So, to be honest, I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop. To figure out what the game is.”

Ann’s eyebrows drew together as pity writ over her features, making his hackles rise. “Sometimes there’s no game, and things are what they look like. My parents are working abroad a lot, but when they say ‘I love you’ I know they mean it.”

Akira nodded, slipping his hands into his pockets. “So no chess?”

Ann rolled her eyes.

“What about stratego?”

Ann gave a brief groan. “You might have to come up with a new codename for Akira, Morgana. I think Joker is a little too on the nose.”

Morgana sighed.

Akira’s pace slowed down, the thought wheeling around in his mind. He hadn’t brought that one in to Hifumi yet. “Actually… _do_ you know anyone who plays stratego? Or chess or go or something like that? Morgana’s game sucks.”

“Hey!” The team leader stood up in the school satchel. “It’s hard moving those game pieces with these paws.”

Chuckling, Ann’s eyes drifted back up to his. “It’s a shame you didn’t come last year. Kiriko-senpai had a chess club, but it disbanded when she stopped coming, so I have no idea who was in it.” She slowed down and looked into a storefront advertising heating and air conditioning.

He wondered what memory she relived with that unfocused look in her eyes. Or if Shiho reminisced a lot, too.

Turning to him, Ann’s intense blue eyes gazed into his. “How come you don’t mention your parents very often? Didn’t you have _any_ good memories with your father?”

“Don’t call him that,” Akira snapped, before settling back and reminding himself she wasn’t the enemy. “Sorry.” Face feeling hot, he turned to the advertisements to break her gaze. “He was always all about work. Kirijo, Isshiki, he didn’t care who was footing the bill as long as he got to run his experiments.” He felt his frown grow. “Cared more about those fucking numbers than any human being.”

In his peripheral vision, he saw Ann clasp her hands, probably studying him in that matronizing way. Then she straightened. “Let’s get some crepes. Chocolate always makes me feel better.”

Friday, 20 May 2016  
After School  
Shibuya, Karaoke Bar

Akira set his school satchel down on the cheap pleather next to his class representative. “Thanks for reserving us a table. How are you holding up?”

Mishima collected his scattering of newspapers and print-outs into a paper folder. He looked to each of the three fellow Shujin students, his poise all business. “Hey, Ann, Akira-san.” His brown eyes paused on the transfer student. “We’d better get to the mission. Drug kingpins don’t wait on us, and there’s less than a half hour left of the reservation.” He nodded to the former track star, studying his eyes for a moment. “So how’d you meet Akira?”

Since the class rep didn’t have that empty-as-shark-eyes look, Akira slid into the booth seat. “He’s my gay stalker.”

Ryuji’s eyes bugged out and he sputtered before pounding a fist on the table. “Don’t effin say shit like that, dude!”

When Ann and Morgana both sent him disapproving looks, Akira held up his hands. “Just trying to break the ice. He was with us against Kamoshida.” He looked to the track star, then jutted his chin at the class rep. “Most of us know each other, but Mishima-kun’s our tech expert. Set up the Phansite and our special accounts.”

Mishima rubbed the back of his neck and looked away. “Oh, I’m not some computer genius or anything. Just making use of what I learned in the Newspaper Club last year.”

Ryuji slumped in his seat as the next karaoke group took to the stage and began the worst singing to come from a clump of middle-schoolers. “_Man_. I thought this was gonna be a real meet. It ain’t like me or Ann’s even good at singin’.”

Ann crossed her arms. “This _is_ a real meet. Mishima’s one of us. Possibly the most important one.”

Morgana cleared his throat. “Excuse me, _Metaverse expert_ here.”

She giggled. “Okay, fine. _Second_ most important.”

Mishima smiled and reached down at the guide-trapped-in-cat-form, who dodged away. “Is he like your mascot?”

Morgana swiped at the class rep’s hand. “I’m not some pretty face.” He smiled at Ann. “_That_ distinction goes to the loveliest member of the Phantom Thieves.”

Ryuji rolled his eyes. “Ugh. If I wanted sappy lines like that, I’d’a stayed at home with Mom’s Korean soaps.”

Mishima straightened in his seat, looking more than a little confused. “What about a mascot is sappy?”

Akira took off his glasses and drew a cloth to wipe the lenses. “Morgana’s our leader. And he’s not some pet cat, he’s a person. The Metaverse twisted him into that cat form and he’s helping us out so he can return to being human, too. Apparently not everyone can understand him when he speaks.”

“It’s because they haven’t visited the Metaverse. Something about being there forces the mind to change, to open up. That’s why I’m comprehensible to you, but sound like a cat to him and Boss.”

Akira passed on the gist of it.

Mishima raised an eyebrow, his eyes sliding to Ann’s. After a shallow nod from her, he clasped his hands over his folder. “Okay.”

Ryuji balked. “For real? That’s so crazy _I_ didn’t believe it at first and _I_ snuck inta the Metaverse _with_ ‘em.”

Mishima shifted in his seat. “I’ve known Ann for almost as long as Shi-chan. Ann wouldn’t have become Shi-chan’s best friend if she was a liar. Or crazy. If that’s what she says happened, that’s what happened.”

Ann shot him a grateful smile. “Thanks, Yuuki.”

Morgana coughed to get the small group’s attention. “Anyway, the additional names you’ve been finding for us have gotten us further in the yakuza clan, but we’ve been running into dead ends. Shadows may possess the knowledge of the conscious person, but even with less of the conscious inhibitions that doesn’t help us if they don’t know the real name of their bosses.”

Nodding, Akira clasped his hands on the table. “And based on what I overheard from Leopard Print, we only have a couple of weeks before he might be sending the doc swimming with the fishes. Besides any other deadlines. That’s not enough time to stumble our way through the whole clan.”

Flicking an ear, Morgana looked up to the transfer student. “Do you think that Niijima could—?”

“We don’t need that lapdog’s help,” Akira ground out. “We can’t trust her. We’ll just have to find some other way.”

Mishima slumped. “I’m even asking Ishikawa and the rest of the Newspaper Club for help – for a ‘personal project’ of course. But these are some dangerous adults. To be honest, unless one of us is _very_ lucky and stumbles across something, I don’t know if we’ll be able to find the name of a mob boss even the police can’t corner.”

Ryuji sighed. “For real. What we need is a good, old-fashioned muckracker.”

Morgana’s eyes widened. “Of course!” He rounded on the transfer student. “Akira, you said some detective kid knew an investigative journalist?”

Not recalling a name, he dug around in the satchel until finding the business card. “Ohya Ichiko. Maiasa Newspaper.”

Mishima leaned closer to look at it. “Really?”

Akira handed it over. “Why?”

Mishima turned it over and read the hand-writing on the back. “Well, I have no idea what Crossroads means, but Maiasa is one of the bigger newspapers in Tokyo. Three or four of the members of the Newspaper Club who want to become investigative journalists read it religiously. They’ve got kind of a trashy tabloid section, but their investigators are supposed to be top-notch.”

Ryuji crossed his arms. “Think we can trust her?”

Akira slumped against the padded booth seat, then brought up his phone and began typing up an email. “No choice. Doc gets shit on in the neighborhood all the time, but her skills are the real deal. And that’s not even including all the thousands of people that gang has on the hook in Shibuya. Stakes are too high to walk away.”

The booth phone rang, so Ann stood up to check the phone next to the booth. After a moment of listening, she said, “Thanks.” Covering the microphone, she looked around. “Our reservation’s up. Should we extend it?”

Ryuji checked the time on his smart phone, then sighed and slumped again. “_Man_. Happy hour’s almost over. Let’s just go.” He looked to the transfer student. “Well, if we can’t trust a name from president hoity-toity, do you think we can trust that journalist?”

“I think you should go for it,” Mishima said, the conviction in his voice drawing stares from the others. He rubbed his neck and looked down to his folder. “I mean, even doing the best I can, I can’t find the names you guys need. And if you already know someone in danger, it would just be threatening her to ignore any new avenues forward.”

“I agree,” Morgana said.

Ann added a nod.

Akira took the business card in hand and added the data to his contact list. Just to add some bait to the offer, he mentioned Murakami’s name in the email for help and hit send. “Okay, guys. Now it’s up to her to respond.” Standing up out of the booth, Akira checked the time on his phone and gave a brief wave to the class representative. “We’ve got about four hours to take a run through Shadowland. Good luck on your end.”

“You too,” Mishima said, taking his folder crammed with news articles in hand.

Friday, 20 May 2016  
After School  
Mementos, Path of Aiyatsbus

The creature collapsed to the ground, its humanoid torso limp but its spider-like body twitching. Black poured off it like fog from dry ice, muck dissolving underneath it until all that remained was the huddled body of Shadow Takenaka. His gold eyes shone even as he held his legs close and wept. “P-please, just… don’t hurt me.”

Ryuji settled back on his heels for a moment, lip curling in disgust. “Tch. You make a livin’ roughin’ up customers at shops that don’t pay you and _you_ want us to go _easy_ on you?”

Morgana pointed his crossbow at the now-cowering Shadow. “Your days of stealing from the poor and beating up the week are over. You’re going to pay all of it back.”

Shadow Takenaka gasped in terror, his glowing eyes widening. “Bu… He’ll kill me! He was never merciful before, but he’s been absolutely _ruthless_ since he started paying off that minister!”

Hope clashed with six failures this day alone. Akira lined up his sub-machine gun with the shadow in a fine suit. “Who is ‘he’? Your boss?”

Shadow Takenaka gibbered at the gun for a moment before nodding.

Akira aimed just a few centimeters from the Shadow’s head and squeezed off a single shot. “What is his _name_?”

“Kaneshiro!” the Shadow said, bowing on his knees and clutching his head in his hands.

Heart rate jumping, Akira took a step back. At last, a break in the investigation. Just not enough. He clicked his firing selector up. “His _full_ name!”

“I don’t know!” Shadow Takenaka wailed. “He’s only ‘Boss’ to most of his underlings. I’ve never even heard his lieutenants call him anything but Kaneshiro-sama.”

Snarling, Akira lifted his sub-machine gun.

Ann dashed forward and shoved the muzzle away from the Shadow. “Enough, Joker.”

Morgana paced to the transfer student’s side, folding up his crossbow. “He’s being honest about not knowing more. Remember that Shadows are distortions of a person’s inner self with inhibitions removed.” He looked to the cowering form with glowing eyes. “Go back and make up for all you’ve done.”

Shadow Takenaka nodded, then faded away, leaving nothing but a money clip.

Ryuji picked it up, disappointment clear in his frown. “So do we go after that other name, see if we can get more dirt on this Kaneshiro dude?”

Morgana put his folded crossbow in a pouch. “We’ve been at this for hours. There’s something I want to check down that escalator, but I think we’re too tired to hunt more Shadows today.”

Clicking the safety back on his sub-machine gun, Akira nodded before following the others out of Takenaka’s tiny corner of Mementos. The swirling distortion slowed behind them, and Akira joined the others in the cat-bus. His arm throbbed and every joint ached, but he refused to whine about strains the whole team had to deal with. Men didn’t cry.

Morgana stopped and popped out of his mini-bus form, leading them down a dark and still escalator. He fiddled with one of the pockets on his utility belt and drew a small but bright white LED lamp and clicked it on.

Akira snapped into a ready-to-fight pose when the team leader leaped half a meter in the air.

“There it is!” Morgana dashed into the gloom, his lamp spot dancing over the concrete wall.

Akira led the three human members of the Phantom Thieves onto the concrete ledge ahead. A security light cast a bloody pall over the space, leaving long shadows on a couple benches and a stand with no stop markings or schedule information.

Ryuji chuckled. “Whoa, it’s like one of those mini-stops that they used to have!”

Akira followed their diminutive leader to a steel door set against a concrete wall along the ledge’s left side. “There is what?”

Morgana shone his light against the steel door, centered on its lock. “One of those shortcuts I told you about earlier. Looks like a simple pin-tumbler. You should be able to pick that open.” He turned to Ann. “Relax. Places like this are like safe, Shadows even _avoid_ coming here. For some reason.”

“You’re really flaky for a leader, y’know that?” Ryuji trotted down the recess in the concrete subway tunnel, shotgun in hand. The pop of tiny stones grinding under his steel-toed boots sounded loud against the comparative silence of Mementos here. A subterranean breeze carrying the phantoms of disapproving whispers blew. The track star whipped around on the ball of his foot, shotgun up, but only darkness greeted him. He glanced to the team leader, then back to his own weapon. “I outta get a light for this. They make ‘em for real-world guns.”

“Really?” Ann said, looking at the profile of her pistol as she slouched against the wall. “Think they make lights for small ones like this?”

Letting his shotgun slip down on its strap over his shoulder, Ryuji paced next to her. “Oh, sure. Real police even use ‘em. I dunno if it’s for makin’ it easier ta see, though. Whenever I saw it on TV, they were shinin’ lights in perps’ faces.”

“Huh,” she responded.

Akira slipped the rake pick to the next pin, pressing with the tension wrench until he felt the cylinder give. His arm screamed in pain from the feedback as they fought Shadows earlier, but Akira refused to give in and ask for help. He tapped the pick on the next pin.

Ryuji took his shotgun in both hands and trotted down the recessed space. A minute later, he turned around and paced back. Then turned again.

Akira grit his teeth. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Would you _relax_?” Sweat from the pain beaded his face.

Ryuji spun around on the ball of his steel-toed boot. “Well if _you_ wouldn’t take forever…”

“Reaper!” Ann chastised, “You’re not helping.”

Morgana left the model’s side to close on the door. “What’s the problem with the lock?”

“One of the earlier pins slipped once I started on number five, and _that_ one slipped when I went back.” Akira twisted the torsion wrench in his fingertips, feeling no give. His arm protested every little motion. Refusing to give up, he wiggled the rake pick until the cylinder rotated a fraction of a degree.

Morgana stared up at the steel door. “Make sure you keep constant pressure with the tension wrench.”

Akira snapped, “I _got_ it.” Holding the twist, he moved on to the sixth pin and nudged it with the rake pick until he felt it slide up and the cylinder rotated open with a click of the bolt disengaging. “Man. Takanobu made it look easy.” He pulled the door open and slipped the picks out, handing them back to Morgana.

Ryuji wasted no time hopping through the door and clambering up the ladder, keeping his weight off his left leg.

Morgana sighed and hung his head. “I was _going_ to say ladies first, Panther.”

Ann flashed him a toothy smile. “You’re such a gentleman, Byakko.” She stepped into the utility space and climbed up next. Morgana followed, and Akira took a few deep breaths to wrestle down his pain before clambering up after them. His arm throbbed and sweat beaded over his face.

When he came to another concrete landing only a couple seconds later, Morgana hopped up and had the next steel door open in seconds. He stowed the picks and tugged the heavy door open with a smug chuckle.

Ryuji gawked. “For real? There’s no way the ladder was that long. We were four levels down!”

Akira stepped across to look through the doorway, the blood-red lighting of the lobby greeting him. “Huh.”

Ann gave him a sidelong glance clear enough for him to make out despite her mask. “You’re sure unflappable. We just found a one-story ladder climb that took us up four levels of subway.”

He shrugged the shoulder that hurt less and stepped out into the lobby. “I’m beat. And it’s not like it changes all those Shadows who didn’t know shit. ‘Kaneshiro’ isn’t even enough to punch into the Nav.”

Morgana followed the others out of the staff door and pushed it shut. “Mishima _did_ give us three. That still leaves us two names to follow up on next time. After ten people’s Shadows, and a possible partial for our target, I’d say that’s not bad.”

Ryuji sat down against the lobby floor and began disassembling his shotgun. “That don’t help us get into that mafia shithead’s castle.”

Ann sighed. “_Doesn__’__t_, Reaper. And even if we didn’t find the boss’s leader _this_ time, that’s ten people who are going to have a change of heart.” She pursed her lips. “I wonder if they’re going to be okay. Yakuza are supposed to be real tight-knit.”

Morgana hopped closer to her, eyes wide. “That’s _brilliant_, Panther.” He turned to the transfer student in a long, dark coat. “They’re going to have a change of heart anyway, why don’t we send their names to the cops? That girl’s sister might even be able to find out somebody else higher up in the clan, and we could trade!”

“Only if we let her in on the meetings.” Akira growled. “Like we need that lapdog’s help.”

Ann rounded on him. “Wait, we have somebody else with more names? Somebody in the police, even?”

Akira winced. “Niijima said her sister was a prosecutor, technically not a cop.”

Ryuji slid the stock off his shotgun and gathered up the three pieces. “Who cares? We need all the help we can get.”

Morgana looked about the group. “We’re not going to figure this out while we’re all exhausted from fighting Shadows. Let’s talk about it tomorrow. We can figure it out after we’ve all had some rest. As the leader of the Phantom Thieves, I’m calling today finished.” He turned to Akira. “You especially, you need to have the doctor check your arm.”

Ryuji stood and trotted off.

Ann pressed fists against her hips, eyes staring into the distance. “Niijima-senpai…” After a few moments, she shifted her weight to her other leg, then focused on the transfer student. “Can we trust her?”

“No,” Akira bit out against the diminutive team leader’s protest. “Back at Inuri, we used to pull all kinds of pranks against the fuzz. Quick wits and quick reflexes were the only things that saved us, and sometimes even that wasn’t enough. But _every_ guy who got suspended without getting directly snatched by Kung-Fu Cop? Blabbed to somebody. Every person who learns we’re the Phantom Thieves is another mouth we need to hope stays shut.” He looked her up and down, this time for unspoken clues instead of the ridiculously hot costume. “Why, did she know something about Kamoshida?”

Ann twisted her fists against her hips, eyes narrowing and drifting away again. “I don’t know. But it’s hard to imagine that somebody as high up as the student council president wouldn’t.” She turned and strode up the stairs to station square.

Akira sighed. “Back to the rat race.” He drew his phone as the team leader fell alongside. “I should probably also pass that name to the reporter in case she can find out anything else for us. If she can help us learn what his distortion keyword is, we’re golden.”


	33. May 22nd, Go Match

Persona 5: Daywatch

Sunday, 22 May 2016  
Morning  
Kanda Catholic Church

Stepping out of the confessional, Akira let out a long breath. A few scattered elderly snoozed, but the pews looked almost empty. Except one girl in a sleeveless blue dress and red omamori knot in her hair, waiting two pews back. After thanking Father Sugiyama, Akira paced down the aisle to her. He gave a shallow bow at the waist. “Ready for another match, Queen Togo?”

She giggled and scooted back. “The rangers of Lothlorien are ready to strike at any time.” She reached back for her box of shogi tiles.

Akira sat down and set his Go box between them. “Actually, I thought we might try something different today.” He scratched behind his ear. “I kind of need a change of pace.”

Hifumi set her box back behind her, then studied his face for a moment. “I know what you mean. I could probably handle cram school fine if it wasn’t for the relentless schedule I have to keep.”

He set a small plastic tray with stones next to the board. “It’s a little easier when you at least know the deadlines. You can always make a workback schedule and keep up. But sometimes you just know there’s something… _out there_ and you’ve got no idea what to do or how long you’ve got to do it.” He slid back against the pew. “And sometimes that feels like my whole life.”

“I… think I understand,” she said, before gesturing him to the tray of stones. “I won the last game, so you can take the first move here.”

Taking a small black piece, Akira paused to look at the grid of small indentations on his board. The choice of where to go and how was up to him. By game terminology, any liberty he desired was his. Almost the exact opposite of his life. He set his black stone near the corner. “Do you ever feel like your hands are full trying to take care of responsibilities from people outside your family?”

A quick breath passed through her nose and her mouth quirked, but Hifumi settled into a laser-focused expression and they settled into a quick pace of laying down stones. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a particularly eventful social circle.”

Something about the melancholy in her tone made Akira’s insides squirm and his mind spin. How could somebody smarter, nicer, better looking, from a better town and family not have it all better? Father Sugiyama praised her integrity above his own! How could people who actually _deserved_ to have a better life still be imprisoned by theirs?

Hifumi paused and looked up at him, hand halfway to set down another stone. Something about her gaze felt penetrating, like his irreverent, jocular front was stripped away. “Do you feel like your friends are stopping you from living your life?”

Letting out a rush of air, Akira sat back and straightened his glasses. He thought back to his short-lived attempt to join the basketball club at Inuri. Then his idiotic attempt to charge down Kamoshida on the day Shiho jumped. Ryuji and Yuuki were opposite ends of the emotion spectrum, but neither lost their heads like him. “The opposite, really. It’s more like no matter where I go or what I do, somebody there is better than me. Like _I’m_ the one who’s holding back everyone else.”

Hifumi set down a white stone, then looked him in the eye, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Is that why you insisted on Go today?”

“What?” he squawked, bumping against the pew back. Akira rubbed his neck. “No. I mean, sure, you’ve won every shogi game so far, but at least you’re honest about playing at full strength. It’s not like the patronizing bull…crap I put up with from Sakura-san or Kawakami-sensei.” He set down a black stone. “Ryuji’s faster than I am, Ann’s more savvy than I am. Hell, I don’t even know if I have better grades then them.”

“I think from our games, that stems from a problem with outlook,” she said, setting another stone down. “Remember that first session, when I talked about what conceding meant?”

He stared down at the board. “You think I should back out of those problems?”

Hifumi set down another stone. “I don’t know enough about you or those problems to say. I mean more about the nature of defeat. When teaching me shogi, my father was careful to teach me not only how to play the game, but how to analyze the game so you could improve from one to the next. And how not to resent a temporary outcome. In a game lost you can still learn a great deal about your own strategy. Perhaps these people are not obstacles stopping you from finding your own greatness, but opportunities to look at yourself and what you can improve.” Soft piano music floated out and she drew her phone, then gave a frustrated sigh and stood. “My apologies, Akira-san. Duty calls.”

Smiling, Akira stood with and gave her a nod. “Let it get the answering machine once in a while.”

Her lips curled up, but a tension remained around her eyes. Hifumi collected her shogi board, but paused, then looked him in the eye. “I quite enjoy our matches together, and it was lovely to have a change in routine like this.” She held the board close. “I’m afraid that mother keeps my schedule rather full throughout the week, but if you’re interested in a practice match during the week—”

“Absolutely,” he blurted, bringing up his phone to exchange text messenger.

Sunday, 22 May 2016  
Early Afternoon  
Shibuya, Underground Mall

Finishing the online shogi game he began on the train, Akira raised his attention to the mall between station square and his next train connection. It took him a little further out of the way than staying in the underground walkway, but more of the pedestrians walked with a sense of purpose and stuck to one side of the hall than the chaotic maelstrom churning every which way in the walkway.

A familiar head passed by in the browsing people meandering through the albums on display, his eyes scanning a printed page warning customers that Risette’s album Sapphire was out of stock.

Somebody slipped past, hand sliding into the brown-haired kid’s pocket and bumping into Akira in his twisting to get back out with a wallet without alerting the mark.

Akira caught the eye contact of a compatriot and shot in-between, intercepting the pass-off. With his lengthened step and already brusque stride, the pair of pick-pockets chose to fade into the crowd rather than cause a scene. Akira continued on to tap the victim on the shoulder with his bulging wallet. “Hey, Kaoru-kun.”

The son of the surplus shop’s owner froze and turned with a startle. “Huh?”

Akira held out the wallet. “You might want to be a little more careful if you’re going to be browsing in a busy place like this. Where are you heading?”

Shame tinged his cheeks read and he checked his pockets before snatching his wallet. “Dad always told me to be careful when I was out. I just wanted to look at some music.” He tugged at his white shirt. Paired with the black slacks he looked like most people in their Sunday casual. He glanced up and down at Akira, as if seeking a diversion from his glum state. “You work at some kind of high-end office?”

Akira glanced down at his Sunday dress. It _was_ his best formal clothing. “Nah, just coming back from Mass. Change into street clothes, do my grocery shopping and cook lunch for the week.” He spread his hands. “It’s a pattern that works. You know any good grocers’ in the area?”

Kaoru shot him a raised-eyebrow look that if it had been on a blond-haired friend would have been accompanied by a dubious ‘For real?’ He slipped his wallet in his pocket, hand still holding on to it. “Well, I usually shop at the Y’s Mart in Akihabara, but that’s because it’s close to where the guys hang out after school.” He pulled out his phone. “Right! This place is closer…”

Sunday, 22 May 2016  
Afternoon  
Minato-ku, OK Mart

Akira sat down in the diminutive eating area of the food mart. He set the other Garden Sushi box down in front of the surplus store owner’s kid, his cotton tote bag against the wrought-iron chair, then straightened his summer street jacket and bowed his head for a brief before-meal prayer.

Kaoru popped open his box. “You didn’t have to get me anything, Kurusu-san.”

“Akira,” he said, keeping most of the terseness out of his tone. He feigned a casual expression. “You can relax around me, Kaoru-kun. You did wait for me to get changed back at Yongen. There’s enough people serious and formal all the time.” He paused to gauge the reaction. “Too soon?”

He swallowed and broke apart the cheapo chopsticks. “It’s okay, A-Akira-senpai.” He took one bite, but stopped and looked up at the cooking video on Akira’s phone. “I’m kind of surprised to see another guy who does most of his own cooking.” He tapped at a stack of carrot slices. “A couple of the guys at primary school used to make fun of me for shopping and cooking.” He let out a breath and relaxed back against the wrought iron chair back. “It’s just one of the few things I can do to help Dad out.” He poked at the vegetables for a moment before taking a slice and eating it. “Mom died in a car accident, so it’s been just me an’ Dad since.”

Akira popped open his store-box lunch. “My parents are separated, so I know what it’s like not to have both of ‘em around to rely on.”

Kaoru nodded. “Oda-kun was like that. He was a junior at my primary school. We used to mostly talk about video games before I graduated to middle school.”

Something about the similar family tribulations broke the tension holding around the middle schooler, and they chatted about middle school before finishing the boxed lunches and going their own ways home.

Sunday, 22 May 2016  
Early Evening  
Yongen, Leblanc Loft

Crimson light seeped through the paper-covered window slides. Grunting, Akira pulled himself up to the rafter, then brought himself down.

Breathe in, pull up. Breathe out, extend down.

The energetic violins and bass of Stargate’s theme sang out of his phone and Akira dropped to the floor, stumbled, then pushed a report on The Sea of Withered Trees out of the way to retrieve his phone.

Morgana leaped up to the windowsill. “Who is it?”

“That journalist Akechi mentioned,” Akira opened the email reply and read. “She wants to meet at the Crossroads Bar in Shinjuku as soon as she gets back in Tokyo on Monday. Nineteen-hundred. Looked like it’s in the Red-Light District.”

Morgana gave a nod. “So a journey through the night life neighborhood filled with temptations.” He sat, tail curling around his feet, and looked the transfer student in the eye. “It’s also bound to have lots of people. You already have trouble with Shibuya.”

Akira gave a cheeky grin. “Why, will you be my escort?”

Ears drooping, Morgana sighed. “Where do you learn these things? I’d expect that kind of talk from Reaper.”

Akira pointed a finger at the guide and picked up his phone. “Speaking of, I might want one of the others there. I’m getting used to the train system, but Tokyo’s still kind of screwy.” Eyes down to the phone, he shot off an invite to the Phantom Thief chat room explaining the situation.

Less than five minutes later, Ryuji responded. [A trip into the Red-Light District? Sweet night!]

Akira sighed and leaned down to brace his chin in his left hand. [This isn't a prank trip, Ryuji. It's to get information from that reporter because we can't find the full name for the don in Shibuya.]

Ann logged in and three dots danced at the bottom of the chat window for a few moments. [Are you going to be okay going up there? The night life is pretty happening.]

Nodding, Akira sent back, [You guys mind coming too?]

Mishima sent, [Sorry guys. I'm filling in for Ishikawa at Setagaya on Monday.]

[I am so there!] Ryuji responded.

Akira pursed his lips, considering how much Ryuji stood out around Shujin. [If we get into a crowd either of us have problems with, I won't be able to help you out of trouble. You up for going out Monday, Ann?]

[You and me can do it alone,] Ryuji shot back. [I've been to Shinjuku so I know the trains we'll need, and I haven't seen the red lights yet!]

A moment passed before Ann sent, [I'd be up for it. Where should we meet?]

Akira glanced at Morgana. “You coming to keep eyes on the situation?”

“Of course.”

“I should get a satchel for casual travel so I’m not always hauling the school bag around,” Akira said. He refocused on the group chat. [Make sure to dress so we can get around Shinjuku without being recognized. Looks like we have to go through the JL anyway, but could we find somewhere with a little less crowd problem than Station Square itself?]

Ryuji’s ID blinked, and three dots pulsed for several seconds. [There's a walkway from the Teikyuu building. Lot of people, but nobody who wants to see anyone else. Kind of the same thing as being invisible.]

Morgana looked up from the screen with a smirk. “On the bright side, if Reaper comes along, nobody will notice you two don’t belong right in those dangerous alleys.”

Snorting a laugh, Akira relayed the Metaverse guide’s message.

[Shut up, man!] Ryuji shot back. [You don't have to repeat every stupid thing he says!]

[See you then,] Ann sent.

The others left the group chat, and Akira closed the chat room, but lingered for a few moments. Since he already had his phone out, he sent a text to Hifumi. [This is Akira. Just wanted to make sure I've got your right info and wish you a good week.] He was halfway through changing when his phone buzzed.

[Thanks, and you too,] she replied.

Monday, 23 May 2016  
Lunchtime  
Shujin, Rooftop

Akira pulled another shrimp from the cold, red soup left over from the previous day. He jostled the chopsticks to knock the small drop forming back into the bowl, then stuffed it in his mouth. Before he could scrounge another, Alliance Force Assemble sang out of his pocket. Knowing Ryuji and Ann could both join him on the roof, and none of his once friends from Inuri stayed in contact, he drew it and opened the blinking text chat.

Hifumi’s ID appeared, three dots blinking for only a moment. [Good news, Akira-kun! Cram school is only going to 17:00 today. Would you like to meet for a game?]

His acceptance finished and thumb hovered over the _send_ button when Akira remembered the reporter’s text last evening. Cringing, he instead sent, [I am so sorry. I already have an appointment I can't afford to miss this evening.]

Long seconds passed before Hifumi sent, [I understand. I apologize for the interruption.]

[There's nothing to be sorry for. Any other day I would be there, but I'm trying to help a friend. I already said I'd be there.]

A few more seconds passed before she replied, [I think I will have time on Thursday.]

[I'll look forward to it. Prepare for the unstoppable advance of my robot army.]

Hifumi sent a smiley face sticking out its tongue. [Steel cannot conquer will!]

Before she had the chance to go, Akira added, [Hey, thanks for calling. Texting. Whatever. Thanks for remembering me.] The instant after he hit send, he realized how pathetic that looked.

[How could I forget you? Your confidence and passion are infectious.] A beat passed before she added, [See you later.] Hifumi left the chat moments later and Akira let out a heavy sigh at the opportunity he had to deny, but it wouldn’t be right to foist this all on the other Phantom Thieves. He made his promise and had to carry his own weight.


	34. May 23rd, Cold Reading

Persona 5: Daywatch

Monday, 23 May 2016  
Early Evening  
Shibuya, Teikyuu Building Walkway

Akira leaned back against the rail at the observation windows, waiting for his online opponent to make another move in his doomed shogi game. With the conductive pads on his gloves, he didn’t even have to take off the black material to keep playing. They complimented his dark trousers against his white long-sleeved shirt, even if the ensemble made him resemble every other boring Joe on the street. Before he could advance his lancer into the promotion zone, the track star jogged up to the transfer student.

“Yo, bro.” Ryuji glanced at the frizzy-haired student’s hands. “What’s up with the gloves?”

Standing up from the rail, Akira sent back a hooded stare. “Ryuji, I _usually_ wear gloves. I’m just not allowed to at Shujin because the uniform specifically forbids it.” Looking back to his phone, he slid his lance up and hit ‘end turn’ with the conductive pad of his grey gloves.

Morgana poked up out of the school satchel. “Oh geez, Reaper. Didn’t you change after Shujin?”

Ann’s voice floated out from behind the transfer student, “Did you forget we’re going to Shinjuku?”

Ryuji stood up and raised an eyebrow for a moment. Then he jerked straight and his eyes widened. “Da-yum. Not like I’m complainin’, but whadda you in a dress for?”

Akira turned around to look at Ann in a maroon, high-necked dress that draped over her bust and cascaded down her body. Feeling heat spread on his cheeks, he managed to drag his eyes from her chest to her head and the straight black hair spilling off it. “Y…you dyed your hair?”

“It’s a wig so I can go out without getting stared at the whole time. Bought it after you-know-who touched my hair the first time.” Ann glared at Ryuji, noticing him eyeing her. “_I_ didn’t want to look like a student when we got to Shinjuku.”

Ryuji took one stomping step at her. “Get off my case, okay? Today’s runnin’ day, I had to rush just to get here after I got outta the showers. Like anyone’s even going to notice.”

Sighing, Akira moved up his rook and hit end turn. “Ryuji, you’ll be a liability. Go home.”

“What?” he snapped. “I rode the train for—”

“Reaper,” Morgana said, settling his front paws on Akira’s shoulder. “People are talking about Kamoshida and Shujin all over. If you go, the cops are _going_ to catch you.”

“C’mon, man,” Ryuji whined at the bespectacled teen. “You an’ me, we can make it a bro night! I’ll even be your wingman.”

Ann’s eyes narrowed and she leaned in to hiss, “It’s not the safest place in Tokyo, Ryuji. Hell, that mafioso’s territory might even extend all the way up there. At least with Akira, I think we’ll be able to sneak wherever we need to go. You’ll get spotted five minutes in, and then we lose that journalist who might have the rest of that name we need.”

Akira slid his bishop onto the enemy’s gold general and hit ‘end turn’. “Don’t try to make it a big thing, Ryuji. Ann and I have been teaming together longer.”

He glared. “For what, like a day?” Ryuji kicked at the floor. “Fine, even _I_ can see when I’m not wanted. But you better get that effin’ name.” He stormed away.

Turning to him, Ann rubbed her fingers against her temples. “Sorry about that. I’m sure he’s real about wanting to help out, he’s just too good at sticking out even when he doesn’t want to.”

“Yeah, kinda like the flamboyant cuttlefish,” Akira said, holding the shogi game between them as if it could keep him from looking at her shapely figure. He posed and said at a low register, “Fuck blending in with the world, why doesn’t the world try to blend in with me?” Straightening, he chuckled and added, “I get him, but I’ve gotta keep the mission first. And I’m sure that you’ll watch my back.” He pointed at her black hair. “You even thought to disguise your hair, I should probably do somethin’ to mine too.”

Ann’s cheeks took on a faint rosy tint that went with the dark red dress she wore. “Th-thanks.”

Monday, 23 May 2016  
Late Evening  
Shinjuku, Red-Light District

Akira pushed past a clump of salarymen, stumbling onto the street in Shinjuku. Garish signs shone bright lights down every lane he could see, shades of red dominated many displays. The light shone off his wet, finger-combed hair. When Ann came up right behind him he said, “I can see why this place is called the Red-Light District.”

Morgana peeked out from the transfer student’s leather bag. “Stop gawking. You already look like a tourist.”

Akira frowned. “Give me a _little_ bit of a break. I grew up in small neighborhoods for most of my life, this is the complete opposite of a podunk mountain village.” He brought out his phone and leaned against a theater building with Ann to let a pack of young office workers cruise for the next bar. The pounding music from a rocker bar down the street made it hard to think. “Address says it’s just up ahead on the right.”

A pair of tall, foreign men stumbled through the quintet of office workers, one tripping against Akira as he put away his phone. The transfer student bared his teeth and cocked his fist back.

Ann reached out to grab him before he could loose a swing, taking his arm in hers and guiding him across the street. She didn’t seem to notice most of the motion pressed his arm against her breast.

Akira spent the time trying to breathe while being closer to a prettier girl than he’d ever been before. Her steady poise reminded him of Shiho. With the wig, he could almost imagine it was the sweet girl from Shujin walking him through the over-crowded city district. Once they reached the opposite sidewalk, he was glad for the signage glare to conceal the blush blazing across his face. Unfortunately, her grip also put him at an angle to see a crisp, blue uniform resolve out of the crowd, and the transfer student noticed the cop look straight at him and Ann.

Akira tensed his arm around hers and steered the pair down the road forking to the right, hoping the cop would pass on by. “Fuzz, eight o’clock.”

A quick glance back showed the blue-garbed man navigating the crowd toward them.

Speeding up his pace, Akira advanced until a small, fold-out table blocked his path. Sensing the cop still on their tail, he slipped his arm out from hers and gave a subtle gesture to the padded stool.

The young lady sitting behind the covered table looked at the two disguised high schoolers with wide, dark eyes. “Ah, so you’ve come to hear your fortune?”

Akira jammed his gloved hand in his pocket for his wallet. “Yeah!” he said with fake enthusiasm, grumbling on the inside about the short time since paying off the doctor.

Ann sat down just as the cop stepped out of the disorganized crowd. “Hi, Miss Fortune Teller.”

The woman gave a closed-lip smile and brief chuckle. “Please, honored customer. I am just Chihaya. Would you and your boyfriend like an affinity reading?”

He felt his blush blaze anew, as Ann stammered with a similar darkening of her cheeks. “O-oh, no. He’s not—”

Akira set his hand on her shoulder and squeezed, giving a smile showing clenched teeth. “We’re not worried about that. Just whatever fortune you think best.”

Chihaya looked at Ann, her eyes narrowing in scrutiny. “Oh, my. You poor thing. I can sense that you’ve been beset by tragedy lately.” She laid down a set of ornate cards.

Akira bit his tongue to keep from complaining about cold reading techniques while the cop stood there, watching them. It wouldn’t take much to guess from the stress signals in Ann’s pose that she suffered something lately. He could feel some of his hairs stand on end at the very premise of using theatrics to play on others’ emotions. Whether for entertainment like his mother, or to lord power over others like his father.

Ann seemed not to notice, taking in a breath at Chihaya’s vague statement which could apply to almost every human being on the planet. “You’re right! My best friend jumped off the roof last month, and she’s still in the hospital.”

Chihaya flipped a card, then let out a relieved breath. “The good news is that your friend can recover. Fortune says that as you grow stronger, so shall she.”

Ann took hand still resting on her shoulder, clenching it with far more strength than Akira thought she had. Just when he was about to let out a pained groan, he noticed a tear slip out from one of her eyes. Letting out a sound between a laugh and a gurgle, she squeezed even harder on his fingers. “Hear that? She’ll get better.”

Grunting, he took her hand and pulled his out, his glove slipping off from the strength of her grip. She relinquished it to him and he tugged it back on. “She was always going to get better. Suzui-san’s too tough to get brought down by that bastard.”

Another tear slipped down her face, but Ann gave him a thin smile and grasped his hand again – still looking a little like a drowning sailor grasping at flotsam, but without the crushing grip this time.

Chihaya brushed at some of her long, brown hair and looked down at the cards. She cringed, then hovered her hand back and forth over the remaining cards. Her fingers grabbed a card and flipped it over with the suddenness of a snapping turtle. The sham woman’s cringe grew and she glanced to Akira. “Are you sure you want me to read this?”

“Pfft.”

“Akira,” Ann chastised, letting go of his hand to wipe at her face. “Would you just answer the question?”

He worked his jaw open, then closed before he felt himself centered enough to answer the con-woman. She may be a fraud, but she also gave Ann enough sense of hope to draw tears and if he started a diatribe here and now, he knew it would escalate and the cop would just cuff him and add another tally to his weekly quota. “Don’t let me stop you. You got somethin’ to say? Say it.”

Chihaya took in a deep breath, her eyes locking back on the card she flipped for a long moment before looking Ann in the eyes. “You shall not find love on the road you now walk. You shall find it only if you look into the unknown, from a place you would never have thought even a short time ago. Even so, it shall not be far.” She settled back on her own padded stool and gave a sympathetic smile. “Five thousand yen.”

Ann’s eyes snapped wide. “_Five_ thousand?” She dug into her dainty purse of the same deep red as her dress, then looked up at Akira and cringed. “Uh… I only have three thousand. Could you spot me?”

Akira rolled his eyes. He drew his wallet and slapped down two thousand-yen notes, but couldn’t keep his mouth shut and jabbed a finger at the fraudster. “You’re still an emotionally manipulative con.”

The cop stepped forward, hand reaching down to the pouches at his waist. Chihaya lifted up a hand to stop him. “It’s all right, Officer Toriyama. Anybody would be shaken by the news fate delivered through me. I think it will be all right if he just has some time to think.”

The man in blue let his hand fall to his side and gave the fortune fraudster a nod, then turned and strode back into the chaotic crowd.

“Thank you,” Ann said with a small bow in her seat.

“Don’t thank a charlatan.” Before she even stood back to her feet, Akira turned to the larger thoroughfare, bulling through the crowd and letting his compatriot chase after.

Slowing down at an unmarked door across the street from a sex toy shop, a buck-toothed man in a heavy brown business suit rubbed his hands. “Hey, man. Lookin’ for a place to blow off steam? Or get the… eh, heart pumpin’?”

Akira raised one eyebrow.

The huckster clasped his hands together. “Touch all you want, no added fees. Whatever you’re lookin’ for, we’ve got.” He pointed a finger-gun at the transfer student. “Cutest girls in town. Guaranteed.”

“Akira!” Ann shouted, before maneuvering through the crowd behind him.

The huckster’s lip curled up at her, but in a blink he was all smiles again. “Hey, if you’ve already got your own, we got rooms for a quickie.”

Memories of thumping and moaning from beyond the locked front door sounded in his mind’s ears, red crept in on the edges of his vision, Akira shot him a snarl. “Fucking gigolo!” He advanced as the pimp fell back. “You’re no better than the whores you hide behind closed doors.” He spat on the sidewalk in front of the huckster.

Ann grabbed his arm and pulled him further down the road. “Whoa, c’mon, Akira.” When the transfer student finally turned back to the sidewalk ahead, she patted him on the back. “You weren’t even that mad at the fortune teller.” She tugged him against a building, her blue eyes gazing into his plaintively. “You want to talk about it?”

Akira clenched his jaw for a moment and slipped his gloved hands into his pockets. Going off about his mother here wouldn’t help. “It’s nothing.” He pulled out his phone and brought up the map to find their destination. “Crossroads Bar. Should be right around here.”

A woman in a black pencil skirt, her dark hair in the remnants of what might have been a tight hair bun that morning stumbled out of a nearby club entrance, vomiting on the sidewalk.

Akira backed up into Ann in revulsion, and Morgana poked his head up out of the satchel slung over his shoulder and read the lit sign above. “Beer, whiskey, and wine. Looks like some office workers really throw themselves into the bar setting.”

Akira turned away from the clear fluid. “If anybody needs a reason to become a tea-totaler, they just need to look at a drinker.”

Ann settled next to him, her eyes coming down from the sign. “Maybe, but that’s Crossroads. That reporter should be somewhere in there.” She walked around the vomit with him and they stepped into a modest club.

An extensive wet bar stretched out along the wall to his right, the back wall covered with pictures of famous patrons. A tiled space lit by a dancing, colored light-show took up the center of the main floor, open to the balconies on the second floor. Drunk office workers scattered across the booths lining the walls and four-seat tables in the middle.

Ann made a quick scan of the occupants. “I expected a hole in the wall, not an ex-nightclub. Not as busy as I thought.”

Akira nodded. “Yeah, if there’s anyone who can give Russians a run for an alcoholism trophy, it’s office grunts.”

She shot him a cool, disapproving look. “So how’d we know which one’s the reporter? She got a profile online?”

Akira shook his head. “I thought of that on the way to Shibuya, but Maiasa Newspaper only had a super-short blurb about her being an investigative journalist. Didn’t even have a profile photo.” Glancing around, he stepped up to the bar and sat down in one of the leather-covered seats, Ann taking the open one next to him.

An overweight woman in a bright blue kimono and makeup so heavy it looked theatrical came up to the pair. She wore a microphone and speaker earpiece clipped to her left ear. When she spoke, she sounded like she’d been smoking since childhood. “Oh, aren’t you a delectable set of morsels?” She leaned down at him, hand on her back. “Are you sure you’re old enough to be cruising bars?”

Akira reached into his pocket and handed her the Maiasa Newspaper business card with the reporter’s handwriting on the back. “I have it on good authority that Ohya-san is here. I need to speak with her. About private business.”

The woman took the business card and flipped it around, scrutinizing the hand-penned writing on the back. Her eyes flicked up, then around before she handed the card back. “Spends more time around here than she does at home, I suspect.” The heavyset woman looked at the two for several long moments. “You look like fine people, but I’m afraid I can only bring one up to see her. She’s been getting skittish since the Hashiba Clan got pushed out of the neighborhood. Not as safe as it used to be.”

Ann looked at the transfer student and sighed. “You should do it. You’re better at reading people than I am, and I figure you’ll know something she might want. To be honest, I’m not sure I could figure out how to get a professional journalist to talk to me.”

Akira nodded, then spared a glance at his school companion before turning to the bartender. “She going to be safe down here alone?”

The woman behind the bar waved a hand at him. “Oh, honey, there’s cameras _all over_ the lower level here. I’ll have one of the girls keep an eye on her, just in case, mkay?” She ducked into the swinging door behind the bar.

A few moments she later with a twenty-something girl with dark hair and old-style kimono, one of the layers glowing under one of the black-lights on the bar. She gave an unconvincing smile. “Hi, I’m Kaho.”

Akira nodded. “Yoshida, and this is Akemi.”

“And I’m Lala,” the heavyset woman said, gesturing the glass bottles in both hands at herself. She guided him through a swinging door and up a set of stairs to a small booth overlooking the tables.

Akira turned on a recorder, then slipped his phone into his pocket before following the bartender in.

A black-haired woman in a rumpled T-shirt and jeans sat curled up on an overstuffed chair, a laptop open on the stubby table next to her. She turned her head and glared at the overweight woman in the blue kimono. “I _asked_ for a _Tokyo Sidecar_, Lala-chan.”

Unperturbed, Lala set the two condensation-beaded beers down on the table next to the laptop. “You’ve been drinking since you came in, Ichiko-chan. No more hard liquor for you tonight, even in mixed drinks.” She gestured to Akira. “The kid had one of your signed cards.” She wiggled her eyebrows enough for it to show despite the makeup. “You picked up a real young-un this time. Just don’t give him anything to drink, okay? He’s got a nice young lady to escort home.”

Akira wrinkled his nose at the stink of booze on the black-haired woman.

Ohya scrutinized him with greater intensity than seemed fitting for somebody about to be cut off at a bar. After a moment, she waved the bartender off. “Yeah, yeah, Lala-chan.” The bartender slipped away, and Ohya sat up. Her dark eyes looked clearer than moments ago, though it wasn’t very easy to tell as low as the mood-lighting was.

Akira sat down in one of the other overstuffed seats and set his bag next to the table. He gestured his chin at her computer, cyan light emanating from its screen. “You know, it’s bad for your eyes to stare at a back-lit screen in the dark.” He tapped the frames on his lenses. “That’s why I’ve got such dorky glasses.”

Ohya gave a sultry smile. “I’ve had doctors before, but you’re a bit young.”

Akira sat back in his chair, his face burning in embarrassment. Seeing women flirt was nothing new, but _at him_ was.

The reporter laughed. “Take it easy, kid. You’re too high-strung. So where’d you hear about Murakami?”

“Homeless artist in Shibuya,” Akira replied, trying to puzzle out how inebriated she really was. “Said he talked with her about his no-good mentor.”

Ohya grunted. “Damn, I was hoping we were done with Madarame.” She sat up and set her beer down on the table, opening something on her computer and typing with practiced speed for several seconds. Then she took a carabiner out of her right pocket, keys jangling against waterproof memory sticks dangling from the oval. She tossed it up just enough to grab a metal loop, then use it to pry the cap off one of the beers. She took a deep drink before righting the bottle and holding it up for examination. “Benjamin Franklin was right.”

Akira tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. “The guy who invented bifocals?”

Still gazing at the bottle held aloft, Ohya explained, “Beer is proof that god loves us and wants us to be happy.” She then brought it back and took another deep drink. After a sharp exhale, she looked more morose than when she started. “And a woman needs some reinforcement when she’s dumped into entertainment from politics. Where investigations uncovered _real_ dirt.” Her frown sharpened. “Not the latest Phantom Thief fad my boss thinks is coming.” She took another deep swig, then stared at the bottle. “I don’t even have any connections. Bastard.”

Morgana sat up from the satchel, his eyes glistening in the dim light reflecting in the shadows. “Oh! Mishima knows all about Kamoshida. And he’d go pretty far out of his way to help us out.”

Nodding, Akira tapped his fingers on the padded arm of his chair. “I could help with that,” he told her. “In exchange for help with that name I emailed you.”

Ohya sat up, her eyes clearer and more focused than expected for somebody having been drinking for an hour. When the corners of her lips tugged up, he suspected she was testing him all along. “You know somebody at Shujin?” Her brow furrowed. “It would have to be good.”

Glancing at the team leader, Akira frowned. When the guide nodded, he looked up to the reporter. “I’ll set something up.” He straightened in his armchair. “So about the rest of that name?”

Her eyes slid over to him, that sharp look returned. “You’re looking for a swimming trip with concrete shoes if you’re thinking of tangling with the mafia.”

Akira leaned forward in his armchair. “Who said I was thinking of it? My friends’ lives are at stake,” he shot back. He paused for a long breath to try to find that calm he knew hunters needed. “One’s a doctor. They’re extorting her, and they’ll kill her soon if I can’t find a third solution that requires the head of the beast. And don’t dare tell me to leave it to the cops, if I could do that I wouldn’t be here.”

Ohya pushed herself up from her slouch. “You’re for real, aren’t you?”

He opened his hands. “You get your source on Kamoshida, the public gets their salacious stories, and I pass along the names of the mafia’s leaders to a guy who knows the Phantom Thief.” He leaned forward, elbows bracing on his knees. “So… do we have a deal?”

She looked back at him for a long moment. Seconds ticked by before she took a quick swig of her second beer. “Well, you got guts. That’s for sure.” She paused for another swig. “But guts alone just make for bad mornings after.”

He grit his teeth. “If the Phantom Thief can swoop in on a rapist whose school was protecting with a veil of secrecy for _years_, don’t you think they can get a Mafioso?”

Ohya stared at him for a long few seconds before she burst out laughing. It went on for a while before she took another swig from the beer bottle. “You really believe that a Phantom Thief was even responsible for that pervert coach’s confession?”

Akira planted his hands on the armrests of his chair, fingers digging in. “Test it. If I’m wrong, then what’s happening now keeps happening. If I’m right and the Phantom Thief is real, this don turns around and potentially his whole mafia branch collapses. Can you let an opportunity like this pass by?”

The reporter stared him in the eye. At last, she sat up in her stuffed chair. “You’re a true believer.” She took a sip of beer, then swirled it around in the bottle, staring at it for a moment. “I don’t know how you stumbled across his name, but your tip was right. His full name is Kaneshiro Junya. For such a rich guy, he has almost no web presence. I mean _suspiciously_ little, like you’ll only get if you’ve got professional scrubbers. He buys servers just to keep his name from blogs and web news.”

Morgana looked at the transfer student. “No wonder Reaper and the Phansite maker couldn’t find him.”

Akira edged forward in his seat. “But _where_ is he?”

Ohya took another sip of beer, her eyes never leaving the transfer student. “That one was a lot harder. It looks like he doesn’t have any preferred hangouts. Best I could find is a hostess club named Spiral that he personally inspects several times a week.”

Morgana settled his feet closer in, the tip of his tail twitching back and forth. “That’s not enough, especially if it’s not a precious location to him. Kamoshida thought of the school as his personal domain, a place where his power could have no limits or question.”

Akira gave the team leader a shallow nod before looking back to the reporter. “No home?”

She sat back and took a deep swig of beer. “Two, one in Sumida-ku and another in Hana, Hawaii. Based on me being able to find them, I’m pretty sure they’re business show-houses and not hearth and home.”

Akira pulled out his phone, a few ideas buzzing in his head but nothing concrete enough to make a search. Mishima was so much better at this kind of thing.

Morgana paced higher up the transfer student’s padded chair arms. “See if she’s been able to find out what his distortion is.”

Swallowing, Akira brought up the chat and sent a ping out to Mishima. “So what’s this Kaneshiro’s obsession? Snorting china white? Whacking everybody who challenges him?”

Ohya paused, her beer halfway to her ruby-sheathed lips, one eyebrow quirked. “What difference would it make?”

Akira shrugged, feeling tension seep throughout his frame. His question gave something away, he could see it in the gears whirling behind her eyes. “Anything I can pass along could help the Phantom Thief.” His phone rumbled in his pocket and he looked down, glad for the distraction.

[What's up, Akira-san?] Mishima wrote.

[Would you be willing to give an interview or two about the Kamoshida thing to a reporter? We might be able to get some positive publicity out of this.]

Seconds passed and the transfer student imagined Mishima pacing in a small bedroom like Yoshida’s before responding. [I'll do anything I can to help the Phantom Thieves. My life is lighter than a feather.]

“And duty is heavier than a mountain,” Akira muttered, finishing the old adage. Thanking Mishima, he closed the chat. Looking up, the reporter held her stance, so he took the sheet. “His name is Mishima. Shujin. You want me to email you his number?”

She took a deep drink, finishing the last of her beer, then nodded. “If you want a journalist’s intuition, Kaneshiro runs on money. Just…” her brows knitted together, “don’t get caught, kid.”

Akira nodded, stood, and collected his satchel to go.

Before he reached the door, Ohya smiled. She held her hand to her eye, finger and thumb curled into a circle. “Be seeing you.”

He trotted down the narrow hall but paused at the top of the stairs and brought up the Navigator. “Kaneshiro Junya.”

“Candidate found.”

“Yes!” Akira pumped a fist and jostled the team leader hiding in his satchel.

“That was step one,” Morgana cautioned him. “We still need a location and distortion. For now, let’s meet up with the others.”

Akira entered Spiral Hostess Club into the location.

The Nav’s cheap, synthesized voice blurted, “Condition has not been met.”

“Fuck,” he spat before he trotted down the stairs and back to Ann. He strode out to the bar where Ann slapped a hand on the bar and snorted with laughter, the bartender in blue giggling along with.

Lala looked up at him and gave a wave. “You came just a minute late, Sugar. I was just telling your _darling_ friend here about my first month running Crossroads.”

Ann turned around on the stool and braced at his frown. “You didn’t get it?”

Morgana poked his head out of the bag. “His name, yes. His location and distortion, no.”

Akira faltered. “Well, we don’t know the whole bit for sure, but we have leads.”

Lala chuckled. “You sound so much like Ichiko-chan used to.” She glanced at a quartet of small monitors hanging down just behind the bar, then clapped her hands to her cheeks. “Oh, my. It’s getting late! You kids are delectable, but it’s almost curfew.”

Ann grabbed the half-full glass and took a deep drink of the orange liquid filtering between half-melted ice cubes, then set it down. “Thanks for the fruit juice, Lala-san!” She took him by the arm and they hustled outside, where far fewer people prowled the streets. Once nobody lingered close enough to overhear, she leaned in closer to him. “So what happened?”

Morgana popped up out of Akira’s satchel, resting his paws on his shoulder. “The mafia leader’s name is a start, Lady Ann! All we need to do is piece together his distortion and location.”

A strange man’s voice, spoken just a little higher than his natural register, said, “Ooh, look at the potential in this one!”

Turning to the speaker, the transfer student saw two men in bright, flamboyant garb approaching. “And the one he has on his arm… well, the hair’s _so_ bland, but that dress is simply superb!”

Ann raised an eyebrow, unsure whether she was being praised or insulted. She ended up settling on a smile. “Um, thanks.”

The flamboyant man with a white scarf tied around his neck reached for Akira’s wet, finger-combed-back hair. “Oh, no, no, no! He’s not taking proper care of that mane of his.”

While that one reached out at him, the other closed on Ann.

Akira brought up his left leg, but instead of kicking, his hand slipped into the boot and came out with a flick knife that sprang open with a click. Stepping between Ann and the weirdos, Akira held it up to the reaching man’s face. “Back off!”

Ann’s eyes snapped wide. “Akira, are you crazy? Put that away!”

Both flamboyant men cried out and fled down another street, but the commotion drew another cop on foot patrol. Swearing, Akira dropped the knife and ran with Ann all the way to the train station.

Pausing for breath, the two looked at each other and laughed. Ann gave him a soft look and said, “You shouldn’t have brought something like that, but thanks for being willing to step in. I know you meant well.”

Akira rubbed his gloved fingertips through his hair to get it back to normal. “Yeah, I’m better at being prepared than keeping it cool. See you at school tomorrow. Let’s get started on that bastard’s Palace, pronto.”


	35. May 24th, Dark Shibuya

Persona 5: Daywatch

Tuesday, 24 May 2016  
After School  
Shujin, Hallways

Ryuji twirled his pen between his fingers while waiting for the last bell to ring. Since Akira’s text that they got the scumbag mafioso’s name, he felt like he’d been riding a five-cup-of-Arginade high. The history teacher _finally_ stopped rambling about the 80s slump, and the new class representative read off the end-of-day announcements and due dates. Even after a month, it still felt weird for some boring dude to end the day instead of Suzui-san, but her seat one ahead and two right of his remained empty.

The reminder dulled his enthusiasm when the bell rang and the other students sprang from their seats. Most days he would be with them, but somehow the reminder of the absence of the girl who had been his class rep since his start at Shujin sapped his energy. Even the junk in the trunk shaking each skirt getting up failed to perk him up.

Ryuji plugged his earbuds into his phone and put on some music to chill. The thudding beats helped get him to his feet and out of class, past some chick reading Fairy Tail.

Leaving his music going, he trotted out the front gates and paused to savor the sweet air of Free Tokyo. Leaving the trains at Shibuya station, his feet took him towards his line home before he remembered the mission and turned to ground level Station Square, passing a chick reading Fairy Tail.

Taking the stairs, Ryuji headed for the walkway in the Teikyuu building. Akira and Ann leaned against the rail, taking turns tossing words at his phone just for it to repeat: “Condition has not been met.”

“Yo, dudes,” Ryuji greeted.

Pausing to shoot him a long-suffering glance, Akira tossed out without looking up, “Location and keyword’s all we need. Money bath?”

“Condition has not been met.”

Ann crossed her arms. “Safe house?”

“Condition has not been met.”

Ryuji tilted his head and looked at the two. “Uh, what exactly is this?”

A familiar, boyish voice let out a disgusted sigh before Morgana licked his paw and rubbed at his ear, “We only have his _name_, Reaper. The only location we know for sure that Kaneshiro has been to is the Spiral Hostess Club, but that didn’t result in a hit. So we’re still trying to figure out Kaneshiro’s distortion.”

Ryuji slipped his hands in his pockets. “Like a buried stash?”

“Condition has not been met.”

“Currency exchange,” Morgana tried.

“Condition has not been met.”

Akira looked to Ann, at his right. “I’m starting to think we’ve gone through every possible synonym for money laundering. Wait, laundromat?”

“Condition has not been met.”

“Ya don’ think it’s about the drugs?” Ryuji leaned closer. “Maybe a warehouse?”

“Condition has not been met.”

“It’s not drugs, Ryuji,” Akira snapped. “And without a trail of bodies, I don’t think he’s the power-murder fantasy type. This dude’s richer than a king and he’s still ripping off high school students. Besides, Ann and I already went through all the names we can think of for distro facilities before you got here. It’s got to be the money.”

“What about insurance?” a familiar female voice said from behind him.

“Condition has not been met.”

Akira snapped straight, looking behind the track star to the student council president walking out from behind him. “What the hell are you thinking, bringing her here?”

Ryuji sidestepped, just as surprised as the others to see upperclassman Niijima standing next to him looking like she belonged there. “Where da eff you come from?”

Akira slapped his palm against his forehead.

Niijima clenched her jaw for just a moment. “The wave of scams targeting Shujin students _is_ part of my duty as student council president,” she said in the same patronizing tone as teachers explaining a concept they thought everybody should know already.

Ann looked at her with narrow eyes, her arms crossed. “The acting principal tell you to find us?”

Akira looked back to his phone. “Can’t imagine why you’d want to hang out with criminals.” He looked down his nose and mocked, “I thought Shujin couldn’t handle such associations.”

Ann’s arms crossed tighter. “Only suicide and sexual harassment.”

When the student council president cringed, balling both hands into fists, Ryuji cleared his throat. “Dudes, I ain’t got much to stick up for, but I don’t think this is helpin’.” He looked to her, remembering the cold shoulder the teachers and disciplinary committee gave him. “You prolly don’t even know they’re just usin’ you, like Kamoshida used me to shut down the track team. Hell, I even feel sorry for ya. I got nothin’ to gain hatin’ on a pawn lettin’ shitty adults push her around.”

Niijima looked away and pulled in a deep breath. “I just want to help.”

Akira bared his teeth. “We don’t need your ‘help’, _Madam_ President.”

She straightened and her eyes narrowed on him. “Even though I have the name of one of the clan’s ranking recruiters?”

Bloody eyeball app forgotten for a moment, Akira stomped one step closer, radiating indignance. “We already have the mafioso’s name. Thanks for nothing.”

“Yeah,” Ryuji said, guessing Akira was just frustrated with their guessing game. “He’s Kaneshiro Junya.”

Akira’s palm slapped against his forehead again. “Don’t _tell_ her, Ryuji.” He refocused on the upper-classman. “You’re not one of us. The ball’s in _our_ court now.” His two fellow Shujin juniors cringed. “Okay, that was a bad choice of words. But like always you’re a day late and a yen short. Leave this to the _real_ problem solvers.”

“Joker,” Morgana reproached. “She already knows about us. It can’t hurt to have another mind to put towards figuring out his distortion. As long as we don’t bring her inside, she shouldn’t have to worry about the danger.”

“Makes sense to me,” Ryuji said, shrugging his shoulders. “So we figure out where he hides out. _Everybody_ has a home base.”

“No we don’t,” Akira said.

Ryuji crossed his arms. “C’mon, man.”

Akira spread his hands out. “What? If home is where the heart rests easy, _I_ don’t have one. There’s a reason I learned to sleep with my back to the wall.”

“What about Yoshida?” Ann straightened her school satchel straps on her shoulder, her eyes scrutinizing the transfer in that weird way that made him unsure what she thought or how he should take it.

Girls were weird.

Akira rolled his eyes to the overcast sky out the windows. “Come _on_. We played video games a couple times because he _lost at Go_. He woulda never stuck his neck out for me even if we did both go out hat-snatching. And he never faked like he would, just like he knew I would’ve never stuck my neck out for him.” He shrugged. “But… I mean, that just made it easier for me to go other places.” Akira looked at him and Ann, his gaze softening for a moment. Then they unfocused and the hardness returned to his face. “Then there’s some folks who are like… anywhere they go, it’s _theirs_. Like that douchebag chairman the old bastard would always roll out the red carpet for. It was like he _owned_ anywhere he went and fuck on anyone who didn’t bow fast enough.”

Ryuji felt a tad dizzy trying to keep up. “Well… how’re we s’posed to find some guy who’s been stealin’ from all of Shibuya?”

“Candidate found.”

All four of the others – including the cat – gasped. Morgana looked from the active phone to him, “I don’t believe it, Reaper. You’re amazing!”

Ann nodded, her eyes still wide. “I’ve got to hand it to you, Ryuji. That was a stroke of luck like we’ve been waiting for.”

“This freak’s distortion is _all of Shibuya_?” Akira looked back to his phone, the creepy bleeding eyeball app filling the screen. “Geez. Now all we need is what he thinks of his distortion. A loan shark’s stash?”

“Condition has not been met.”

Morgana shifted, wrapping his tail around his feet. “Maybe it has something to do with shell companies? He owns plenty of places to hide his money.”

“Real estate office?” Ryuji proposed.

“Condition has not been met.”

Akira crossed his feet. “Money markets?”

“Condition has not been met.”

Niijima held her right arm in her left. “It’s possible that you all are on the wrong track trying to think of illegitimate places that organized crime _ends up_ laundering their money. One of the things that most criminals, almost all _regular_ people want, is to feel normal. What about something simple, where people withdraw money?”

Ryuji looked at the transfer student’s phone. “An ATM?”

“Condition has not been met.”

Ann stared at the student council president for a moment, then tried, “A bank?”

“Match found. Beginning Navigation. Target: Bael.”

Akira tapped his phone and the home screen shone up at him before he slipped his phone in his pocket.

“Dude,” Ryuji blurted, hands jerking from his pockets, “What the eff? We just found the king d-bag and you wanna back out?”

“No. But this is for the _fixers_, not the bean counters sitting back to wait for their orders from on high.” Akira’s narrow gaze fell on the student council president. “It’s _our_ turn now.” He picked up his school satchel and walked away, leaving the upper-classman staring after them with her hand clenched on the railing.

Ryuji shrugged and followed the rest of the Phantom Thieves. Once they found a quiet nook to duck into, the transfer student slid his phone back out and hit the app.

His stomach twisted and the world bled as everything warped together into a freakish mish-mash collapsing in on itself. Then lines straightened, though the sky was overcast and dark as twilight. Wind blew bits of paper through the streets, no bright advertisements or street lights to brighten the gloom. Looking down at himself, Ryuji was disappointed to see his Shujin uniform. “Aw, man. I was hopin’ for that sweet jacket and steel-toed boots.”

Akira scratched his head and looked down at the catboy. “Weren’t we always in those thief outfits everywhere in Kamoshida’s castle?”

Morgana drew a squared metal rod. “That was while we were inside his treasured domain, a place his subconscious innately tried to push out everything he couldn’t control. It’s possible this isn’t the ‘inner sanctum’ of Kaneshiro’s Palace. Until we’ve crossed some sort of boundary or threatened his psyche in some way, there won’t be any of that friction which causes your transformation.”

Akira snapped his fingers. “So like an immune response, until his subconsciousness perceives us as a threat, we’re just unimportant static?”

Morgana squinted, teeth clenched in discomfort. “Basically. Some personalities have an extremely narrow field of importance, and others are hostile to even the faintest traces of something happening outside their direction.” Morgana pressed a button on his metal rod and it popped open into his crossbow. “In any case, we’ve gotten into the mafioso’s Palace. Our mission is the same as before: secure a route to the Treasure, send the calling card, and change his heart.”

Ryuji clicked his RMB-93 shotgun together and slipped his school bag back behind his arms. “Awright! It’s time to _do_ this!”

Akira unfolded his KEDR’s wire stock and nodded to Ann, then followed Morgana out into the windy street. For such weird proportions, the catboy moved like an anime ninja, zipping from cover to cover.

Akira, the second one out, was the first to freeze on the cracked and dirty street. When Ryuji got out of the little alley, he realized why. Despite the dim twilight, small groups of honest-to-god ATMs on stubby legs stood along the sidewalks up and down Shibuya’s central street.

One of the bits of blowing paper slapped against Ryuji’s shotgun and he reached out to take it, noting the rectangular thing was more colorful than it appeared from a distance. When he picked it up, he saw the two-thousand-yen bill’s portrait of Naha’s famed gate. “This is the best Palace ever!”

“Focus, Reaper.” Morgana peeked out from behind a delivery truck sitting on cinderblocks, its wheels gone.

Giving catboy a dirty look, Ryuji walked up to one of the ATMs, noting its screen had a partial display for a withdrawal. “What the eff is this?”

The machine gave what Ryuji would’ve sworn was a resigned sigh, and then a couple yen notes spat out of its cash slot. Confused, but not enough to look a gift horse in the mouth, Ryuji bent down and picked them up, then smiled. “Hey, sweet. Easiest ten thousand I ever made.”

“Ryuji!” Ann jogged closer, wary like she expected the machine to explode or something. “You can’t just take money from a strange… ATM… person… thing.”

“Why not?” Ryuji blinked at her.

She took a step closer, her pretty blue eyes blazing. “Because—” She stepped in front of the ATM and it gave another dejected sound before spitting out another note. Ryuji reached around her for it and she snatched it from under his hand. “It’s weird!”

“Hey,” Ryuji leaned back against her, almost pressing forehead to forehead with the dumb blonde. “These guns that I got for you ain’t free. That flashlight attachment you bought and folding wire stock Akira got cost dough, so why not? It’s just financin’ Phantom Thief stuff.”

Akira kept his KEDR up like he expected an ambush at every moment. The dude really needed to smoke a blunt and chill. “Okay, so there’s creepy ATMs with feet everywhere, but shouldn’t there be a bank somewhere?”

Morgana looked up at him. “Well, Reaper, this Palace appears to mirror Shibuya so far. However, I think we can safely assume Kaneshiro’s Palace isn’t a bank. At least not at a real one. It wouldn’t be a distortion that way. The heart of his Palace must be something else.”

Ryuji growled at the talking cat-boy the others elected leader. “Do you know how many buildings there are in Shibuya?”

Ann rolled her eyes clear enough for him to see through her mask. “There’s a big one six blocks this way.”

Morgana transformed into the bus and Ryuji groaned about the lost opportunity to grab for blowing yen notes along the way until they reached an insurance building his mom frequented, though the lights in its sign and lobby were out. The doors lay on the floor as if both rusted out of their hinges years ago, more of the ATMs resembling hunched people scattered inside.

Akira jumped a line to an ATM where a front desk clerk should be. It made the same resigned sigh and offering of bills, but the transfer student waved his KEDR in the air. “Okay, where is Kaneshiro Junya?”

A synthesized sigh passed out of the ATM. “Please, just take your money and go. That’s all we’re good for.”

Ann looked around the room. Her hand clenched on the Grach held against her side, but at least she kept her finger out of the trigger well. “I can’t believe _this_ is what he sees people like.”

Morgana came to her side, definitely checking out her ass. Not that it wasn’t fine. “Well, his distortion _was_ a bank, and of all Shibuya. In its own perverse way, it makes sense for him to view everyone in it as his patron.”

Ryuji scoffed. “Then where’s the chicks, cool cars, and other stuff rich dudes buy tons of? What’s the point of money except to do stuff with it?”

Akira took the bills and examined them like he expected test answers. “Well, despite their financial options, the wealthy spend far less of their income on food, housing, even cars and boats. They tend to dump it into sheltered financial markets that keep it away from the poor.” He pocketed the cash from what should be a receptionist. “And to some degree, I get it. That sanitized account I made was _supposed_ to be savings for an emergency, but I keep having to drain it for the doctor’s visits.”

Ryuji walked up to another ATM-person just standing in the middle of the lobby and it shuddered before extending more yen notes. “Huh. Three thousand.” He waved his hand in front of its bill slot and another bill spat out. “One thousand.”

“Reaper!” Ann stomped closer.

“What?” he snapped back. “I’m just seein’ what’s here.”

Morgana trotted closer and waved, using his crossbow to extend his reach. The ATM spat out another thousand-yen note. “Does this mean he thinks people always have more money?”

Ryuji shrugged and took the note. “Makes sense for a rich dude. Seems like they always think everyone always has more money.” He ground his teeth, fist clenching over the bills in his hand. “Like the bank that kept houndin’ ma after she left pops.”

Akira punched the ATM and roared, “Where is Kaneshiro?”

“Kaneshiro is a higher person. He leaves no tracks,” its melancholic, synthesized voice said.

Ann sighed in that girly way like she was watching a limping puppy.

Akira kicked one of the unused chairs, sending it toppling. “Why is _everything_ in my life one step forward and one jump back?”

Ryuji began to reconsider his praise back when he told the transfer student he was awesome for letting everything roll off his back.

Morgana switched his grip on his crossbow. “Let’s not lose sight of our objective. However repulsive – or just weird – Kaneshiro’s distortion is, it doesn’t change the plan. Secure a route to his Treasure and change his heart.”

Akira’s lips twisted for a moment before he turned for the street, then scrambled back to right the chair, and head back for the street. “Let’s scope out this twisted Shibuya. Reaper, where’s the next sky…”

After waiting several seconds for Akira to finish his sentence or do anything, Ryuji walked out after him. “Dude, you miss out on sleep or… whoa.”

Easy as a balloon, high above Shibuya floated an enormous disk. A series of concentric rings covered its bottom, the weak wind swirling through Shibuya converging up into its center like a vacuum, sucking up all the money in the borough.

Akira stared up, mouth hanging just a little open. “Byakko, you don’t happen to be able to cognition yourself into a helicopter to get us up there, do you?”

Catboy looked up at the transfer student with a glare. “It’s not like I gain new powers for each Palace I infiltrate. There wasn’t exactly room for the minibus in Kamoshida’s Castle.”

Akira’s lips pressed into thin lines. “That thing might as well be in Ha’tak up in orbit.”

Ann came out behind them, staring up at the floating disk. “Well, how the hell are we supposed to get up there?”

Ryuji looked down to Morgana’s crossbow. “Hey, don’t ninja in anime have grappling hooks ‘n stuff?”

Morgana glared at him. “Ninjas in anime can also duplicate _and fly_. Any crossbow capable of launching something as heavy as a _grapnel_ wouldn’t be able to get it as far as that flying palace.” He stared up at the flying disk for a long moment before letting out a sigh. “We’ve reached a cognitive block, everyone. Let’s reconvene in the real world and hope we can figure out another way in.”


	36. May 24th, Lead Me Not

Persona 5: Daywatch

Tuesday, 24 May 2016  
Early Evening  
Shibuya, Teikyu Building

Akira paced next to the others, looking through the list of now-defunct bookmarks in the Metaverse Navigator. Ann grumped next to him, and Morgana sat in much the same state from inside the school satchel.

Only Ryuji seemed to share his burning need to inflict violence on something in an effort to make something right, or just to _do_ something. He held his rage in check until coming across a discarded plastic bottle in the road as they trudged back towards Shibuya station. “I can’t believe we got nothin’ after all that work!”

Akira shoved through a herd of businessman trudging out.

Ann grabbed the transfer student’s arm and pulled him to the corner. “Akira!”

Morgana’s ears remained curled as he groused in Akira’s school satchel. “It looks like our luck has run out. After all the Palaces I’ve visited, I never imagined one would have its sanctum in the sky. How could I possibly counter that?”

Ryuji walked around a gaggle of college students heading home, his frown deep but his hands in his pockets. “What’re we gonna do, ask the real Kaneshiro?”

Niijima slipped out of the crowd behind them. “Having some difficulties?”

Ann turned a hooded gaze on the student council girl, too tired to be a real glare. “Did someone tell you to eavesdrop? Or sit on your high horse and look down on us? At least we’re _trying_.”

Ryuji cleared his throat. “Dudes, she ain’t the enemy.”

Her words in the student council room echoed in his mind, “_What would the police think if I were to send this recording to them_?”

Akira adjusted the satchel strap on his shoulder. “Don’t be so sure of that.”

“_Joker_,” Morgana poked his head out of the satchel. “We could have a mutually beneficial agreement.”

Niijima tucked her manga in her school bag. “Perhaps—”

Akira whirled on her, ignoring the crowd. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Would you just _go away_? This isn’t a situation calling for middle management to helicopter around until a trouble-shooter solves the problem for you. You’re worse than useless!”

Niijima cringed like he gut-punched her. He’d have sworn he saw light glinting at the corners of her eyes before she blinked, anger and something else flashing through her eyes before she straightened with an unnerving calm. “So, you want to talk to Kaneshiro Junya?”

Akira pondered whether to try throwing her off with a joke or if a satisfying verbal barb would do the trick.

“Then you get Kaneshiro.” She dashed between them and out the door.

Akira paled, his eyes widening. He didn’t need to see how Masa treated Takemi to know that the best she could look forward to would be floating face-down out of Tokyo Bay. He was pissed she threatened his friends, but didn’t want her brutalized and murdered. He took off after her, but stumbled to a stop when a grey-haired man in a shabby office suit strode in through the door. The transfer student looked to Ryuji, who began running alongside. “Stop her!”

Ryuji nodded and launched off through the crowd, ducking and weaving through the crowd with a dexterity of years of practice. Easy back-and-forth like the strokes of a swimmer, picking one way and then the next to race through the crowd. It was so graceful in its own way the transfer student gawked.

Shibuya, Central Street

Ryuji leaped over an unauthorized street-side jewelry dealer, cutting through the crowd like a race to the school gate. If it wasn’t for the student council president’s braid, he’d have lost her among the sea of other dark-haired girls in the evening Shibuya crowds. Slipping around some old granny with a walker, Ryuji closed enough to see her flag down a cab.

“Spiral Hostess Club,” she said.

“Shit, she was listenin’ in on us,” Ryuji spat. Skidding past a trio of children, he caught the door before she could close it. “Are you totes crazy?”

She commanded, “Drive.”

When the taxi began to move, he leaped inside, hopping to the opposite seat.

The taxi stopped and the driver looked into the back seat. “I’m not getting involved in any fight between you an’ yer boyfriend.”

Ryuji choked on air.

“Just drive.” Niijima closed the door, her voice just as authoritative as last time. Without making eye contact, she pulled on her seat-belt and closed the door.

Knowing trying to physically force her out would just end up with the cops carting him off, the track star followed suit. Taking that as good enough, the driver turned around and put his foot on the gas.

Ryuji looked over at the stoic girl hitching a ride to some place filled with gangsters. Now that he was faced with the prospect of talking a girl down, he wished Akira didn’t have that damn fear of crowds so he could’ve done it. Not that she wasn’t easy on the eyes. He leaned closer to hiss under his breath so the driver might not hear, “Prez, these ain’t the kinda folks to screw around with.”

“Neither am I,” she snapped back without any attempt to keep her volume down, her crimson eyes still on the road up front.

He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to think of a way to convince her not to throw both their lives away. Keeping his voice down, he tried reasoning with her, “Prez, these ain’t the kinda guys that’re gonna be impressed with winnin’ a student council election. They got people that handle things in alleys at night.”

She rounded on him, her eyes blazing, pricks of light glinting at their corners. “The kind of thugs that my fellow students begged me for help with.” Her breath hitched. “How long am I supposed to do nothing, Sakamoto-kun? How long should I wait for somebody else to take care of the problem _for_ me? Isn’t that exactly what you all were _just_ condemning me for? For doing nothing for Suzui-kun? For doing nothing for Kiriko-san?”

Ryuji recognized the name of the shoe-in for StuCo president before she transferred out without a word to anyone. He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. This girl held onto things even longer than Akira.

The cab driver pulled to a narrow access road with openings to a small parking garage. “Spiral club is just past this parkin’ buildin’ here.”

Niijima pulled out her wallet and paid at the machine bolted into the back of the driver’s seat, ignoring Ryuji’s protestations.

Scrambling to keep up, he slapped the seat-belt away and stumbled out after her. Out of the taxi, he abandoned any pretense of staying low-key and reached for her. “Prez! For real, you don’ wanna do this!”

Niijima shrugged off his hand and marched on through the concrete parking structure. It reminded him way too much of Akira’s march on Kamoshida. Before coming to the pedestrian exit, she drew her phone and dialed.

Akira’s voice came from its speaker. “Niijima, are you fucking insane? Get back here before you cross a line they will _not_ let you come back from. Blackmail like they’ve got on Iida are kiddie games to them. These are the kind of bastards that run sex slavery.”

“Stay on the line and listen,” she snapped, her face focused and open hand curling into a fist. “You might want to record, too.” She opened her phone’s settings and tapped. Akira’s protestations went silent.

“Prez!” Ryuji had just enough time to say before she strode out of the parking garage to a tall building with signs for half a dozen businesses inside. One emblazoned with ‘Spiral’. “He’s serious! We all are. This is the _yakuza_!”

Niijima yanked her arm out of his hand and power-walked in, then up the stairs to Spiral. She burst in without the niceties he thought were programmed in her. “Where is Kaneshiro Junya?” she demanded of the front hostess.

The girl behind the front desk gave a clenched smile. “This is just a hostess club, miss.”

Ryuji couldn’t imagine that physically hauling her out now could be any worse than the steaming pile of dangerous shit she was trying to step into, so he grabbed Niijima by the elbow and tried to pull her away, only for the student council president to go all Bruce Lee on his ass, spinning him around and pinning him to the front hostess’ desk.

Niijima stared into the hostess’ wide eyes. “I know Kaneshiro is here.” She straightened and looked out at the pairs of businessmen and girls in costumes showing off their curves. “Kaneshiro is peddling drugs throughout Shibuya and blackmailing high school students!”

The quieted conversations burst into a murmur and two of the men stood up and slipped out.

Refocusing on the hostess, Niijima added with a still raised voice, “I want to talk to him _now._ Or I bring the police in on it.”

Another handful of businessmen decided to make a hasty exit. One of the suited men lounging around a door in the back stood, straightened his jacket, and walked up to the front desk.

Beads of sweat broke out across the hostess’ face. “Please don’t cause a commotion, miss. Nobody wants any trouble.”

The man with small piercings in his ears and nose glared down at Niijima. “Whatta you makin’ up shit against a respectable businessman like Kaneshiro for? Beat it.”

“Yeah,” Ryuji said, still pinned to the front desk. “We’ll just be going now. C’mon, prez.” She pressed with way more muscle than he thought a girl could have and he couldn’t budge.

Seeing that raising her voice got at least some reaction, Niijima shouted, “Kaneshiro is running the Shibuya mafia and anybody spending money at his business is supporting the mob!” As another handful of businessmen made their exit, she glared right back at Pierced Muscle-head glaring down at her. “If he’s not here, you’d better take me to Kaneshiro right now!”

“Please,” the hostess begged as another man in a generic suit walked from his station at a door to the back. She gestured both hands down as if that would make any impact on the student council president. “Nobody wants any trouble.”

Pierced Muscle-head reached for her and Niijima let go of Ryuji so she could snag his wrist and hold him off. Pierced Muscle-head’s lip quirked. “This boy’s smarter’n you are. Might want to do what he says and make yourself scarce before someone makes you.”

Niijima snapped, “I’ll only make more of a scene until I talk directly to Kaneshiro Junya.”

The other thug in a nice suit reached into his jacket. When Ryuji caught sight of a holstered gun, he felt himself break out in a cold sweat, but instead the thug drew a flip-phone and dialed a number. “Boss? We got a problem child up at the front. Permission to… take care of things?”

The upper-classman shouted at his phone. “My name is Niijima Makoto and I’m not going anywhere until I talk to Kaneshiro Junya!”

Ryuji caught a burst of some dude’s raised voice for a moment from the flip-phone before Suited Thug frowned. “You either got real good luck or real bad, girlie. Boss will see you now.”

Pierced Muscle-head jerked his hand out of her grip and led the two high-schoolers to the door in the back. He knocked three times with a brief pause after the second knock. A bar latch on the inside scraped before the door swung open, another meathead inside. Pierced Muscle-head plopped down into a chair next to a small table with cards. Meathead Two and Suited Thug escorted them to a private room several doors down the brick-faced hallway.

Inside a room lit by soft blue and purple lights rested plush couches. A laptop rested on a glass-topped, circular table strewn with fancy booze bottles. An overweight man with thick, brown hair looked up at the high-schoolers with a sneer. He kicked up his feet on the table and put his arm around a hot woman wearing a skimpy black dress. “Word to the foolish: time is money and right now you’re wasting both of mine.”

Niijima glared at the obese man in a silk suit.

Musclehead Two punched her across the side of the head, sending her stumbling into Ryuji.

Kaneshiro sat up, his feet thumping on the ground and rage twisting over his face. “Fucking idiot! Do you have any idea who she is?” He scooted forward on his padded couch, giving the lackey no time to answer. “That’s our leverage against the fearsome and until now untouchable prosecutor Niijima Sae.”

His upperclassman gasped with wide eyes and Ryuji helped her stand.

Kaneshiro waved a lazy hand at Ryuji. “He, on the other hand, is a nobody.”

Suited Thug snapped a sudden punch into Ryuji’s gut, sending the track star crumpling, breathless, to the ground.

“Sakamoto!” Niijima scrambled to get between him and Suited Thug. “Keep your hands off him!”

Kaneshiro laughed. “Are you really that clueless about where you are, little girl? If it wasn’t for your sister, you’d be nothing but an hors d’oeuvre for my loyal employees before you went away, never to be seen again.” He sneered. “Him, on the other hand? I’ve seen a million trash like him on the streets. Without him, there’d still be a million trash out there. Brainless shitstains like him wouldn’t even know what to do with a thousand yen. When I was in high school I was turning one thousand yen into ten, getting ahead of the internet revolution. Now no shitstains like you or Medjed could stop me.”

Meathead Two kicked Ryuji in the chest as he tried to stand, sending him crumpling again with a moan.

Suited Thug reached to shove Niijima out of the way, only for her to snag his wrist and spin on the balls of her feet, hurling him over her shoulder into the wall.

Another thug in a generic suit, standing across the room, snatched a GSh-18 pistol from inside his coat, lining it up with Ryuji’s heart.

Niijima froze, breathing heavy but crouched low and waiting for the next person to move.

Kaneshiro bared his teeth. “Understand? I eat shits like you for breakfast.” He leaned back and smirked, then eyed Suited Thug, held up two fingers and twitched them forward.

Just as the track star began to rise, both hands up as he stared into the GSh-18, Suited Thug kicked him in the ribs, knocking him coughing to the ground. The impacts before hurt, but now each breath caused a dull burning sensation.

“Stop it!” Niijima took a quick step at him, only for Meathead Two to wrap both hands around her torso and pull her back. When she stopped, he reached up to cop a feel with one hand. When Niijima pushed at the limb, the suited man with a GSh-18 lined up with Ryuji’s head. She trembled when Meathead Two squeezed at her.

Kaneshiro sat back, taking on a stony expression. “This is the power that unlimited money provides. Power like nothing else in this world can give. And here is the first new rule from the one who has to my new little patrons: run your mouth and I _break_ both of you. Rule two: when I find it convenient, I call you and you get your hotshot sister to back off whatever case I say.” His posture relaxed. “There’s also the matter of lost revenue because of that shit you pulled up front, but I think a million yen by the first of June should cover it.” He swished his hand at the door, all back to relaxed smiles. “Now go.”

Suited Thug swung a left haymaker into Ryuji’s head, sending the track star stumbling into the door. Stars exploded in his eyes.

Meathead Two released his grasp from Niijima’s chest and she dashed away from him, taking the stumbling Ryuji and helping him out the door. “Sakamoto, I am _so_ sorry.” Her eyes glistened and she sniffled as she led him back to the door, Meathead Two trailing them. “I never meant for you to get involved. I never meant for _any_ of this to happen.”

Remembering the staunch quiet he had to dredge up when his father stumbled home in one of his alcohol-fueled rages, Ryuji just said, “Out.”

Meathead Two locked the door behind them as Niijima guided Ryuji back to the front of the hostess club.

Her breathing began to get faster as she led him out down the stairs. “This wasn’t supposed to happen, Sakamoto-kun.”

Holding a hand over his burning ribs, he turned his eyes to hers. “We all _said_ this would happen.” His phone rang, but his ribs hurt too much to fish it out of his pocket, so he just strode out the business tower’s front entrance.

Shibuya, Parking Garage near Spiral

Sure they should see them by now, Akira ended the recording and closed the call so he could focus on looking for the blonde and brunette. The air felt thin and his heart hammered in his chest. Stepping out of the shadows of the concrete parking garage, he looked across the narrow road to a business tower with ‘Spiral’ marked for the second floor.

Ann shifted her weight from foot to foot and cut the call. “Ryuji’s not answering.”

The door opened and Ryuji limped out, Makoto following right after, her eyes glistening. She had one arm wrapped around her middle and her lips trembled.

Ann raced off from his side and gave a relieved “Ryuji, you made it out!” as she threw her arms around him.

He let out an agonized gasp.

Akira grabbed Niijima by the shoulders. “You _idiot_, you could’ve been killed!”

Tears streamed down Niijima’s face and she surged within his outstretched arms to clamp hers around him and bury her face in his neck. “I’m sorry.” Her arms trembled. “I’m so sorry.” Her whole body shook. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

Akira went stiff, wanting nothing more than to push the shaking student council president away. Yet, her tears and the tremors were different than when his mother cried to make a man compliant. Fearing that she’d either break into fragments or pull a hidden knife and fly into a rage, he just stood there, waiting for her to stop and do something comprehensible.

Ann slipped Ryuji’s arm around her shoulders to help him walk before looking to the transfer student. “We’d better get out of here. I know Kaneshiro let ‘em out alive, but…”

“Right,” Akira responded, calm now that he had an objective not involving a girl shaking like a motor about to spin itself out. Returning to the access road, he pinged a taxi to take them to Takemi’s clinic. Once it arrived, he slipped a hand around her middle to help guide her into the vehicle.

The whole trip, Niijima repeated, “I’m sorry.” By the time they arrived in Yongen, she went quiet but refused to unlatch from Akira.

Inside, they all sat down at the far end of the waiting room while Takemi finished with a patient already in back. Akira sat down at separate chairs, hoping it would force Niijima to let go of him, but no such luck.

The upper-classman’s phone played a jazzy tune, and at last she unlatched. ‘Blocked’ stared up at her from the address of the strange email. When she opened it, an attachment showed a picture from a security camera in the corner of the private room in Spiral. Ryuji lay curled on the floor, one of the suited goons holding his arms over her torso, one hand squeezing her budding breast.

Ann flinched at the clear blackmail. “You going to be okay, Senpai?”

After a moment, she took in a deep breath. She brushed at her shirt with one hand. “I didn’t mean to drag you in like this, Sakamoto-kun.”

Akira shifted the arm she cried on, feeling the wetness getting into his undershirt. “It was the _yakuza_, I don’t know what else you were expecting.”

Morgana sat down before the group, his tail swishing behind him. “No beating up a lady, verbally or physically.”

Akira rolled his eyes, but with his arm now freed he reached into the left pocket of his Shujin uniform for a mini-packet of tissues.

“You’re right,” Niijima said, accepting the offered tissues. “I was stupid. I got so caught up in trying to _do_ something for once in my life, I didn’t just walk _myself_ into danger, I made enemies for Sakamoto.”

“It ain’t that bad.” Ryuji shifted in his seat and hissed, clutching his chest.

Akira glanced at the picture filling her smart phone screen. “What on Earth made you go and do something so reckless? I thought it was already common knowledge that I’m an asshole and nobody should listen to me.”

Niijima chuffed, not quite a laugh but not a sob. “I just… The best I’ve ever been is a burden. After dad died in the line of duty, Big Sis did her best to keep everything going. She was always so… _focused_, so driven. She homed in on one thing like a laser-guided missile and _nothing_ ever got in her way.” She bit her lip and wiped at her face. “I always… wanted to be like her. Unstoppable. She _always_ knew what to do.” She cringed and wiped her hand down her shirt. “And now Kaneshiro’s going to expect me to make things even harder for her.”

Morgana’s ear flicked. “Is that the prosecutor she mentioned in the student council room?”

Ann arched an eyebrow. “Your sis is a prosecutor?”

Nodding, Niijima turned her phone off and put it away. “She’s one of the head prosecutors in the Special Investigative Division.” She jerked, then let out a cough and her bloodshot eyes started glistening again. “She’s going to lose her job because of me.”

Morgana puffed out his chest. “Nonsense, we’ll find a way to fix this before anything happens to her.”

Niijima looked up at Ann. “I… I should also apologize to you, too. The whole school covered up Kamoshida’s crimes for… I don’t even know how long. I couldn’t do anything about it.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “No, I _didn__’__t_ do anything about it. If I really cared, I’d have done something. Instead I just did what everybody else said. I could have stopped him before he ruined your life at that school. Maybe even Kiriko-san’s.” She looked down, her shoulders hunched. “I really am the worst human being ever.”

Akira swatted her across the top of the head, knocking her hairband off-center. “_Real_ douche-bags never know they’re douche-bags.”

Morgana’s eyes narrowed. “Akira…”

Ann looked to the small team leader and sighed. “I’m not so different. Me and Yuuki were the closest people to Shiho, but we didn’t do anything. I don’t think I’ll ever stop wondering what might have happened if you at least tried to help Shiho, but…” She straightened, turning a cold glare at no point in particular across the room. “_Kamoshida__’__s_ the one who actually did it.”

Morgana’s ears curled down as he looked up at the student council president. “I guess you’re just like the rest of us. None of us had anywhere to belong either.”

Ryuji let out a sigh, then winced. “If we could just get to that damn flyin’ palace, we could take care of all this, no prob’.”

Ann smoothed out one of her pigtails. “So what do we do from here?”

Morgana’s tail swished as he pondered for a moment. “Whether in the real world or in the Metaverse, we’re all Kaneshiro’s targets now.” He looked Akira in the eye. “Think we should bring her in, see if she can divine a solution we missed?”

Akira took off his glasses and pulled out a microfiber cloth to clean them. “I don’t see how it could make anything worse.”

Straightening her hair band, Niijima looked around at them, then wiped at her shirt with her hand. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

The door to the interior of the clinic opened and Doctor Takemi strode out, her stethoscope bouncing and a no-nonsense expression on her face. “So what do we have?”

An elderly woman trudged out from the back, her rubber-soled cane making a quiet _pok, pok_ sound as she crossed the lobby.

Takemi walked up to the group huddled at the far end of the small lobby. She bent down to examine Niijima’s face, taking her chin in hand and rotating her head left, then right to examine the developing bruise. Her eyes flicked to Akira. “I thought you said there was nothing to worry about, and the yakuza weren’t going to be a problem?”

“It’s not…” After a sigh, Akira put his glasses back on so he could see the far side of the room. “Okay, _this_ time it was the yakuza. But we have everything under control.”

Niijima pointed at the dyed-blond trying to look stoic. “And _he__’__s_ the one who’s actually injured. This is nothing.”

Akira sighed and looked to the slender woman in a white coat. “Just…put him on my tab. I’ll come by and pay his bill tomorrow.”

Ryuji followed the doctor into the back, not doing a good enough job of subtlety as he checked out her legs while limping into the back.

Morgana’s tail twitched and he turned on Niijima. “Before we break, we may have the perfect opportunity to have somebody look in on all those names we’ve been changing at Mementos.”

Akira’s brows furrowed. “You really think we can push that on her now?”

Niijima looked from the transfer student to the guide-trapped-in-cat-form and back. “Are you all okay?”

Morgana stood, his tail held aloft like a tiger about to pounce. After a beat, it returned to a slow swish and he looked to the transfer student. “You already know the idea, would you just tell her?”

When Akira hesitated, Ann jumped in. “Could your big sister take names of people who are about to have a change of heart? We went through a lot of people in Mementos while looking for Kaneshiro’s name.”

Akira nodded. “A lotta prosecutors are always looking to add another feather to their cap. Could she trade names of compliant perps for favors from cops or other prosecutors?”

Makoto brushed her hair back, eyes zoning out for a moment. Her eyes fell to the floor and her hand curled, fingernails biting into her palm. “I don’t know. I tried to talk to her about the Phantom Thief on Monday…” He thought he saw her shoulders shudder before she bit her lip. “I’m not sure she’d trust changes of hearts. She even mentioned bringing in a consultant, though last I knew the Shirogane Detective Agency hasn’t responded to her requests.” She tapped her fingertips on her chin as if doing so would drive her neurons.

Akira pulled out his phone to look at the bookmarks they pursued in Mementos. “I’d rather they rot in prison than float out to sea.” He put his phone in sleep mode. “I mean, I’d rather they could just live better. Prison’s supposed to be for people who _won__’__t_ change.”

Ann sent him a soft look. “Because their situation is a lot like yours? All you want is a chance to live a good life.”

He looked away, wondering if Hifumi or Father Sugiyama would have such a generous interpretation of his future if they knew how many fights he threw himself into in the past. If they knew how many injuries he’d caused.

Niijima searched his face as if expecting some kind of clue there. “You’re really that concerned about the fates of scam artists and drug dealers?”

Morgana nodded. “Absolutely.”

Akira straightened his glasses. “We wouldn’t have changed their hearts if we didn’t give a damn. But any day now there’s gonna be a bunch of drug pushers and con artists waking up to what they’ve been doing to Shibuya. While surrounded by other drug dealers. If we’re not willing to let people have a change of heart, what’s the difference between us and the Republic of Greater East Asia?”

Ann scoffed. “Hey, I had to read Battle Royale for language arts class, too. We’re not _that_ bad!”

“Right,” Niijima agreed, her stance relaxing just a little. “Those dystopias _kill_ people. It’s not at all the same thing.”

He rounded on the upperclassman, looking her straight in the eye. “Isn’t it? Both say you’re only worth the wrongs you can be punished for. Never forgiven. Or maybe the favors you can be used for. The victims who gave up those names deserved freedom from the prison of their situation, but if at all possible those changed hearts deserve a chance to live too.”

Niijima studied his face for a few moments longer. “You really _do_ care what happens to them.” She wiped at her white button-down shirt. “Things _can_ be pretty dangerous for people trying to leave yakuza clans. I’ll find a way to make it work.” She held her left arm in her right. “The only problem is how to get them to her.”

Akira craned his neck to stretch out a muscle. “Should we do the same magazine clipping thing as the calling card?”

Niijima shook her head, as serious as ever, but looking settled now. “I think that kind of thing would come across as a taunt to her. We’d need to make this look as plain as possible. Like the…” She broke for a yawn. “…memos that go back and forth between the prosecutors’ offices.”

Morgana nodded. “I think we’re at the end of the road today. Everybody rest up and we’ll rendezvous for another attempt tomorrow.”

Ann nodded and stood, but then stopped. She turned, arms crossed, to look at Niijima for several long seconds before her aquamarine eyes flicked to Morgana. Then she trotted out.

Akira looked to the packet of tissues and decided it would be better to let her have the rest even if it was new. “You going to be okay? We could only hear what happened in there.”

Niijima clenched her hand on the tissues, her eyes down for a moment before she looked back up at him. “You were just as vitriolic as Ann just half an hour ago. Why are you concerned now?”

Akira squirmed in his seat. “I thought you were a hypocrite before. One of those people willing to sacrifice others to get what you want but never get your hands dirty yourself.” He swallowed and studied her face to be sure she was as unscathed as she claimed. She only had that one bruise, at least where he could see, but her posture wasn’t as hunched as before. “My parents are both hypocrites, _used_ people to get ahead.” He glared out across the narrow lobby. “I _hate_ that more than anything else.” Akira straightened and looked her in the crimson eyes. “I still think what you did was stupid, but… you proved me wrong.” He glanced to the team leader. “So what next?”

Morgana hopped up on the vacated chair next to the transfer student. “We take her into Kaneshiro’s Palace. Between her knowledge of Tokyo and her sharp wit, she might come up with a solution we missed.”

Akira took his satchel and let Morgana in, then looked to the class president. “Meet us tomorrow, at the Teikyuu overpass after school.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fan fiction is an opportunity to apply little twists or fixes to many different aspects. I always thought the game was hamfisted about making Kaneshiro a mustache-twirling joke, so one of the priorities was making him a believable, dangerous villain. Leave your thoughts in a comment if you thought this take was done well or badly.


	37. May 25th, Waking Fire

Persona 5: Daywatch

Wednesday, 25 May 2016  
After School  
Shibuya, Teikyu Building

Akira craned his neck left and right to stretch out a kink. He took in a deep breath, then stepped from the concrete wall into the mass of morons, each going his own way. A hundred conversations over phones assaulted him as he made his way across the square, but at last he reached the stairs and the foot traffic thinned out. Coming up to the walkway, he noticed the class president already there, waiting. She wore an adhesive bandage over the cheek the yakuza muscle struck the other day. He nodded at her. “You okay, Niijima-senpai?”

She twisted away from him for a moment, her exposed cheek turning pink for just a moment. “It’s just a little bruise. I’ve had way worse in aikido practice, Kurus—”

He cleared his throat. “Could you _not_ call me that? I introduce myself as Akira for a reason.” He took off his glasses to rub his eyes. “Kurusu’s my old bastard.” He thrust his chest out, wide eyes gazing out at the blurry people as he said in a nasally voice, “That’s _Doctor_ Kurusu.” He put his glasses back on and spat over his shoulder. “I don’t want _anything_ to do with him, name included.”

Ann slipped out of the crowd and leaned against the rail on Akira’s other side.

Setting the satchel with Morgana in it against the rails, he leaned back so he could look out at the people walking by. “I meant more how did it go? You live with someone, and I know when I got back from school with bruises I had to answer tons of dumb questions. That’s why I learned how to use makeup to hide them.”

“Ah, I—” Niijima froze, then looked him in the eyes, her own widening in confusion. “You learned how to use makeup?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. When I didn’t _want_ the sweater-vests to see me with a fresh bruise.”

Ann sighed.

Morgana shot a hooded gaze at him. “Smooth, Joker. Way to break in the new help.”

Fiddling with her fingers, Niijima looked down. “Well, Big Sis has been staying over at work since Monday, so she doesn’t know what happened.”

Blond showed up like a lit neon sign in the crowd of dark hair, and a moment later Ryuji strode out of the crowd. “Sweet, everyone’s here. Let’s go turn Kaneshiro’s palace upside down.”

Niijima glanced at the assembled Phantom Thieves. “Palace?”

Akira waved her on. “There’s no _good_ way to explain it. Just follow along and you’ll see.” He retrieved his satchel and followed Ann to the secluded nook behind some browning landscaping they used to slip into Kaneshiro’s palace the first time. He pulled out his phone, opened the bloody eye icon, then looked up at Niijima. “Brace yourself. It’s about to get weird.”

He tapped the screen and every color around them drained, except the reds which bled into everything else. Every line and shape twisted like the world wanted to turn inside out. Then, a blink later, everything straightened and a dirty Shibuya, locked in the pall of dusk, lay before them. Scraps of paper blew in the wind.

Niijima gasped. “Where did all the people go?”

Ann twirled her finger through the end of one of her pigtails. “They’re safe in the real world. This is… a different one.”

Akira nodded. “It’s a cognitive construct based on Kaneshiro’s warped desires.”

Ryuji looked at his Shujin uniform with disappointment, then sighed and slipped his hands into his pockets, wincing at the motion. “Yeah. The mafia jerk thinks money’s all other people are good for. An’ apparently don’t think anyone can run out.”

Niijima arched an eyebrow. “Why would he think something so nonsensical?”

Akira pulled his sub-machine gun out of his satchel as the others readied their weapons. “He’s a rich dumbass. Everybody who hides in an ivory tower loses touch with reality.”

The student council president stared as they drew their guns from their satchels and assembled them, her eyes widening and skin paling. “What are you all doing with firearms? If the police caught you—”

“They’re actually models,” Ryuji said, digging into his school satchel. “Though they work just like real ones in this funky place. They’re for Shadows.” Ryuji clicked the front and back ends of a rifle together, then clicked a wood stock into the back of that. “You’ll know ‘em when you see ‘em, but hang back when they come out, mkay?”

Akira checked the new laser dot projector on his sub-machine gun, then looked over the polished wood of the weapon in the track star’s hands. “When did you get a rifle?”

Ryuji smirked. “It’s an SKS battle rifle, still used as a ceremonial weapon today. They filled in between bolt-action rifles and full-power firearms, but this one’s got sighting for use as a marksman rifle. ‘Figured since we have long streets and that flyin’ palace thing, I might want some range.” He shouldered his school satchel, then hissed in pain. “I’m good. Anyway, I got it from Big Man.”

Niijima blinked. “I’m impressed, Sakamoto-kun. If you showed such attention to detail in your studies—”

Ryuji clicked his tongue. “Eh, whatever. Anyway, first thing we gotta get to is codenames. We all got ‘em when we’re in here. I’m Reaper.” He let go of the rifle to point his left hand at Akira. “He’s Joker. Ann’s Panther. Catboy there is Byakko.”

Morgana held out his squared steel rod at the track star, for all the indimidation a folded crossbow could do. “I am _not_ a cat! I’m an honest human, it’s the Metaverse that twisted me into this form.”

Niijima hopped a step back, her eyes wide again. “A monster cat?”

Morgana fell to the ground, pounding a fist on the packed dirt. “I _just_ said I am _not_!”

Ann clicked a button on the side of her pistol light and it cast a bright cone of white light. “All ready. Let’s get up there.”

Niijima glanced up at the giant floating disk sucking up all the money in Shibuya. “_What_ is _that_?”

Morgana lead the team out from behind the tended foliage and into the street. “The heart of Kaneshiro’s palace. Technically this whole place is his palace, since he considers all of Shibuya his, but his Treasure is up there. And that’s our target. If we can get to it and steal it, he’ll have a change of heart just like Kamoshida.”

She slowed and stared at the ATM-people. “What are these?” The cognition she approached gave a pathetic groan and extended a handful of yen notes. Baffled, she took it and examined them as if expecting some hidden exam question. “Five thousand yen notes?”

Akira nodded, then flinched when a blowing note hit him in the mask. He reached up and pulled it off, pocketing it. “Yeah. Those are what he views people as. Hardly any different than my old bastard. Just stepping stones to his glory.”

Niijima swept her gaze up and down the street. “A reality showing his heart. So stealing his ‘treasure’ somehow forces something like an overwriting of his cognition?”

Akira pulled his sub-machine gun stock against his shoulder. “Close enough.”

“Wait,” Niijima said, keeping in step as the group entered Center Street. “If this is how he views Shibuya, does that mean there’s an ATM version of me somewhere?”

Ryuji swept the barrel of his rifle over the rooftops. “Wow, she got that an’ she didn’t even see that cognitive version of Ann.” He grinned down at Morgana. “Makes you look lame, actin’ like it was somethin’ complicated when she an’ Akira got it right away.”

Akira swallowed, his pants straining against him at the reminder of the cognitive Ann in a micro-bikini. As much to get them talking about something other than Ann in a scorching-hot bikini as to distract himself, he joked, “It’s not like _you_ got it.”

“Shut up, dude!”

Niijima looked up at the flying disk. “So we just need to get up there, right?” She straightened and took in a deep breath. “Kaneshiro Junya, I’m Niijima Makoto and I’ve come here to bargain!”

Ryuji scoffed. “Like shoutin’ at it’s gonna work.”

The disk descended.

The boys gaped. Morgana leaped almost a meter up, pumping a fist into the air. “Yes! I hoped her deal with Kaneshiro would’ve changed his cognition in a manner we could exploit.”

Ann stared at it in wonder. “But… _how_?”

Niijima came up alongside the blonde. “Maybe it’s like using your card to get into banks after hours?”

Akira blinked. “You can do that?”

Ryuji lowered his rifle and looked at the transfer student. “Uh… yeah. You didn’t know that?”

Akira ground his teeth. “All the places I lived in up to Inuri were dinky little towns. After the sun goes down, good luck getting _any_ services.”

The disk came to a landing at the large intersection near Station Square, and a ramp extended from the top. Now that it had descended, he could see a building on it with marble facing and gold decorations.

Morgana led the wary march up, but the instant they set foot on the paving stones on the giant disk itself, a flicker of flames washed over Akira, Ann, and Ryuji, leaving them in their Phantom Thief forms.

Niijima jerked back, her stance widening and arms rising. “What happened to you?”

Ryuji smirked under his skull-like mask. “Sweet, ain’t it?”

“Isn’t,” she corrected. “You’re certainly still Saka—”

“Reaper!” Morgana blurted. “Remember, this is a place within Kaneshiro’s heart and mind. Codenames protect us, just like the outfits you see them in now are like an armor against the palace ruler. Now let’s do this fast before one of the palace effects start to contaminate you.”

Akira and Ryuji braced their weapons, then headed up to the entrance of the most ostentatious bank the transfer student ever saw, glittering with gold and marble facing.

“Eff, man,” Ryuji said, his eyes wide under his heavy skull mask as he stared around the enormous dias the bank rose out of. “Dude’s got literal _money trees_. He really _is_ in la-la land.”

Ann looked over her tight red leather suit. “You know, us in a bank… with costumes like this…”

Ryuji snorted in amusement. “I know. We’re totally robbers.”

Morgana hit a button on the side of his rod and it sprang open into a crossbow. “Eyes up, everybody. I’m sensing a lot of Shadows inside.” He tilted his head. “They feel… different. Like they’re waiting for something.”

Niijima stepped up to the polished oak doors. “Maybe a customer of importance.” She reached out and hauled at the pull ring, the door opening with a groan.

Ryuji lifted his rifle, then grimaced.

Morgana hopped in front of him. “Hold up. Miss President, for your protection you should hold at the back. Shadows can be very dangerous when they turn hostile. You too, Reaper. It’s pretty obvious that you’re still recovering from the beating the yakuza gave you yesterday.”

Niijima held up her fists. “I can take care of myself. I’ve trained in aikido since I was twelve.”

Akira lowered his sub-machine gun. “How much force can a fist deliver versus a bullet?”

She sighed and took position behind the others. Once she moved, Ryuji joined her and the group paced into an enormous bank lobby.

Despite the gold and marble facing on the outside, much more practical wallpaper decor met them inside, with tones of beige and a leafy green. Rows of benches stretched out like pews in a church sanctuary.

A two-meter tall figure in white trousers and a sky-blue vest met them, but when it bowed they all got a good look at a head black as midnight and lacking any facial features but two glowing yellow eyes. “Master Kaneshiro has been awaiting you, Niijima-chan.”

Akira pointed his sub-machine gun. “That’s ‘san’ to you.”

Morgana hopped closer. “Hold your fire, Joker. There’s Shadows all over the place.” He gestured to the teller kiosks, each one manned by an identical Shadow, then to halls to the right and left of the lobby where pairs of Shadows wearing ballistic vests and wielding batons stood. “Take us to Kaneshiro.”

When Akira lowered his sub-machine gun, the Shadow led them through a gap in the tellers, past counting tables where the same smart-dressed Shadows sorted yen notes, and into a broad hall to a spacious room. “This is the reception office,” it said.

Stuffed black leather chairs surrounded a heavy conference table of some dark wood. A stacked pyramid of cash took up the bulk of the table’s space. Even through her mask, Akira could see Ann’s eyes widen at the stacks.

“Dayum,” Ryuji said as he walked up to the table. “This would be like… a hundred _lifetimes_ of beef bowls.”

Akira smirked. “Or just ten of Aiya’s Gyudon.” When the track star snagged one of the taped bundles of notes, Akira sighed. “_Reaper_.”

“What?” Ryuji whined. “It ain’t stealin’ if it’s from a thief.”

Akira shrugged and picked up a taped bundle to examine it.

Seeing no obvious traps, Makoto stepped up and sat in one of the plush chairs by the screen. Once the rest sat down, a three-meter-wide screen on the wall blinked. A comically tall chair on it rotated, and a Kaneshiro with smoldering gold eyes and a sharp white suit glared out at them. Looking down his nose, he began, “Unauthorized entry. Defamation of character. Lost wages and revenue.” He clucked his tongue. “For such a pretty girl, you certainly didn’t exercise sense. The settlement shall be one million yen.”

Akira spat. “Fuck that, you bloated rich bastard. Paying a blackmailer only encourages more blackmail attempts.”

Shadow Kaneshiro shook his head. “Defiance of authority. Refusal to settle a lawful account charges. Additional administrative fees. That’s another two-hundred fifty-thousand yen.”

Ryuji boggled. “One an’ a quarter mil? For real?”

Shadow Kaneshiro folded his hands together. “I can understand gathering so much money could be difficult for children.”

Ann brightened. “You’re going to call it off?”

Ryuji reached forward and slipped another bundle of yen notes into his pocket.

Shadow Kaneshiro huffed. “A loan. Ten percent interest per day.” His eyes shifted to Ryuji. “Fifty percent for him.”

Akira ticked his finger along the stacks of cash, trying to keep his decimal places. “That’s… uh…”

Niijima gave him a hooded gaze. “One hundred twenty-five thousand yen a day. Six hundred twenty-five thousand yen a day for R…Reaper-kun.”

Akira almost dropped his sub-machine gun. “_Thousand_… per _day_?”

The corners of Shadow Kaneshiro’s lips turned up. “There are… more manageable options for ones such as you.”

Niijima glared into the screen. “So now we get to what you _really_ wanted from the start.”

Shadow Kaneshiro clapped. “The riff raff _can_ learn after all.” He gave a grin, exposing teeth capped in gold and silver. “Yes, indeed. Even though certain services are inconsequential to _your_ kind, they are of _significant_ monetary value to _me_.”

Ann’s lip curled, baring teeth. “_Our_ kind?”

Rolling his eyes, Shadow Kaneshiro sat back in his high-backed chair. “Perhaps not learn so much after all. The younger Niijima-chan is but a slip of a girl. She shall service my clients in the private rooms of Spiral.” He grinned. “But the _older_…” He chuckled. “Special Prosecutor Niijima Sae could save me _so_ much money on bribes and payments to that _irritating_ minister and those puppet police.”

Niijima’s hands clenched. “So _that__’__s_ how he’s managed to evade justice this long. He’s bought out somebody higher up. With that kind of forewarning, he could pack up and move operations each time a warrant is filed.”

Ann stood up out of her chair and snarled at the Shadow. “You’re delusional.”

Shadow Kaneshiro tisked. “Young women. So foolish, so physically frail. The best thing about them, really.” He waved a dismissive hand at them. “It’s been the nature of things since the dawn of time for the weak to be devoured by the wealthy. The young are stupid. I’m really doing them a service by taking that money from them and putting it to good use.”

Leaping from his chair, Akira roared and fired full auto across the width of the screen hanging from the wall. An alarm pulsed from speakers hidden in the ceiling.

Ryuji snatched handfuls of bundled yen notes.

Pounding footsteps preceded the appearance of two armor-vested guards wielding long batons.

Ryuji lined up and pulled the trigger, blowing the head of the left guard into dissipating smoke, the rest of its body following suit. He gasped in pain at the recoil from his weapon and collapsed back into his chair.

Ann braced behind her pistol, her form exactly like Ryuji explained to her back in the castle, letting off shot after shot into the other guard’s chest.

Smoke leaked from the impacts. The guard shuddered and burst into black muck and a red-skinned oni stood up out of it, shouldering a wolf’s-toothed club.

Morgana closed his eyes and a brawny form took shape above him, Zorro’s eyes glowing as blue light crept over the oni’s weapon, yanking at it. The Shadow pulled back and swung down, its club shattering the heavy table and sending taped bundles of yen notes flying.

Akira lined up on the guard, but called, “Pillar of Heaven!”

A column of fire and darkness dropped from the hallway behind, then blasted the oni with darkness.

Already in firing stance, Ann took two shots into the oni’s face. It fell back and dissolved into vanishing black goo.

Another pair of guards with batons raced around the corner.

Morgana shot a crossbow bolt into the first one’s throat, sending it stumbling to its knees and clutching the bolt, gushing smoke before dissipating into nothing. Akira blasted the other with darkness from Pillar before following Ann out into the hall.

Another three oni now with breastplates and clubs met them at the exit to the counting area.

Pillar shot a fireball into the center one as Akira and Ann shot the oni on the right, a crossbow flitting into its right eye before it tumbled to the ground and dissolved in smoke.

Ryuji shot the oni on the left with his rifle, the blow sending it stumbling a step back but knocking him off his feet. He hit the ground with a pained cry, his weapon clattering to the floor next to him.

Niijima reached for his rifle, but Morgana shouted, “Forget fighting back, help him out first!”

Taking it in hand anyway, she slipped his arm over her shoulders and helped him limp faster into the counting area. Akira and Ann blasted covering fire over the desks, sending yen fluttering and Shadows diving for cover under the furniture.

Two guards with batons stood just outside the gap to the lobby, already shuddering and swelling up like dark puffer fish before bursting into more oni.

Ann lined up and pulled the trigger, but her pistol clicked empty. “Shit. Carmen!”

Blue motes of light pulsed between the oni, growing into the shape of a dancing woman in a frilly dress. It lashed its thorned whip around one, throwing it into the other oni and giving the Phantom Thieves enough room to run into the lobby.

More baton guards poured out from the hallways to the right and left, with the siren continuing to pulse from all around them.

Morgana lined up his crossbow with the closest on the right. “There must be dozens.”

Niijima walked out with Ryuji. “Why are the guards turning into monsters?”

Akira blasted another guard coming from the left before his sub-machine gun clicked. “Not the time. Berith!”

A pulse of pale blue motes of light burst in front of him, leaving a grey-armored knight on a red horse. It charged the guards coming from the left as Carmen advanced on the ones to the right with bolts of ice. Morgana summoned Zorro and sent it to back up Carmen, then shot a guard on the left in the throat.

Ryuji stood up on his own feet, gritting his teeth. “The eff am I gonna let my friends get hurt without helpin’ ‘em out. Captain Kidd!”

A swirl of blue motes burst, leaving a towering skeletal captain perched on a boat. It held up its cannon-hand and shot a blast tossing a handful of Shadow guards like leaves.

Emerging from the wave of guards bursting into oblong black masses, one oni leaped, powering a blow down on Kidd in the skeletal torso.

Ryuji stumbled back until Niijima caught him, his Persona dissipating in a puff of blue.

The alarm ceased and a click sounded from the ceiling. Shadow Kaneshiro’s voice came next, “Customers are only worth keeping when they pay. Tragic suicides from two shots to the back of the head should be enough to… _encourage_ the remaining customers.”

Tears shining at the corners of her eyes, Niijima shouted back, “Please, just let them go! It’s _me_ that you have a problem with.”

Akira snarled, but stumbled against one of the padded benches when an oni struck his galloping knight with a studded club. He reached out at his Persona as if trying to pull it, and the Persona vanished into sputtering blue motes. “Nobody who’s got a beef with Kaneshiro is alone. Andras!”

A new burst revealed a towering, winged man with blue feathers and the face of an owl. It spread its wings and cawed, waving its arms and sending shards of ice flying into half a dozen oni.

Ignoring the fight still closing in on the Phantom Thieves, Shadow Kaneshiro said over the speakers, “Oh, you have no need to worry, little Niijima. You’ve caused some unsightly delays, but I’m sure you will find some way of paying them off. I have backroom clients who pay handsomely for someone of your physique.”

The student council president clenched her eyes shut and let out a choked sound.

“Prosecutor Niijima, slave of the Kaneshiro yakuza,” the Shadow gloated over the speakers as oni pounded Carmen with long war clubs.

Another club landed on Andras, the feathered man crumbling to the floor and dissipating in a burst of azure motes. Akira stumbled against another bench with a pained cry.

Niijima struggled to keep control of her breathing. “Please, stop! My sister has nothing to do with this, and neither do they! _I__’__m_ the one who made the mistake, not them!”

“Debts are meant to be paid,” Kaneshiro called back, calm as the oni closed in a ring around them.

Carmen collapsed under the blows of half a dozen oni, Ann tumbling to the ground with a whimper.

Kaneshiro’s voice floated out of the speakers, “You’ll pay what you owe. Just endure it and do as instructed.”

Dodging between more oni and Niijima, Akira snarled at a purple-skinned oni sauntering at them from the desk tellers. “She doesn’t owe shits like you anything. You’re the petty thief here, not her. Agathion!”

A giant gold vase hiding a green imp formed out of blue motes, and it blasted a bolt of lightning into the purple oni, knocking it, twitching, to the ground. A pair of other oni, one red and the other gold, paced closer from its flanks and simultaneously leaped, chopping their weapons into the vase. It shattered into motes and Akira collapsed to the floor, curling in on himself with a pained gasp.

“You are becoming rather expensive annoyances,” Shadow Kaneshiro said, his tone bored. “Your only meaning in life now is to pay.”

Niijima gulped in air.

Akira fought to his hands and knees. “Shut up, you two-bit mafia shitstain. Decent people shouldn’t even have to share society with scum like you. People like Ann and even Niijima deserve better than you.”

“Kill him,” Shadow Kaneshiro said over the intercom. “And dump what remains of his body in front of the nearest publisher’s house. The people need an example so they remember to pay.”

Niijima snarled. “Shut your damn mouth, you money-crazed tyrant!”

The lights in the lobby flickered and whispers floated out of the air around them.

“_You can__’__t let the Snitch of Shujin find out! She__’__ll just feed you to the sharks_.”

The young woman’s voice came again, “_You__’__re in high school, and it__’__s high time you _grew up_. All you do is eat away at my life_.”

Niijima slid to her knees, clutching her head.

“_Niijima couldn__’__t wipe her own ass without orders_.”

The young woman’s voice accused again, “_You__’__re _given_ food, clothing, and shelter. Do you think _I_ can waste time with such garbage?_”

Niijima whimpered, fingers digging into her hair and knocking her braided headband out.

Akira’s voice floated out, dripping with venom, “_At least you did everything you could for Suzui_.”

“_Words are all you have?_” a boy’s voice said, “_So you__’__re just a faux-good-girl pushover_.”

A young woman’s voice snapped, “_The very fact that you__’__re still engaging in such infantile fantasies just shows how little you__’__ve grown up._”

“I’m not your puppet,” Niijima whispered. Her stance tensed. “This is for _me_!”

Flames licked over Niijima’s face, leaving a heavy metal plate with slits over the eyes. She pulled herself to her feet, then reached up and yanked at the plate over her face. Stumbling to one knee, she grit her teeth and pulled again, screaming as blood dripped, but kept pulling.

Morgana looked up at her from his hunch on the ground, panting but smiling.

Several oni hefted their clubs and raced through the benches at the Phantom Thieves, only for a massive explosion of blue and red flames to burst out from Niijima and knock them flying back. “Johanna!”

When the fire cleared, Niijima wore a black leather riding suit and sat low astride an enormous motorcycle covered with heavy steel plates and red tracery, yellow flames swirling where its front and rear wheels should be. A thick canopy of glass enclosed Niijima, leaving only one small opening at the back which extended down so her legs could reach the floor and prop the heavy vehicle up.

Ryuji’s mouth drifted open.

Kaneshiro’s voice snapped from the speakers, “Fools! Kill them or you’re not worth your money _or_ your life!”

The oni surrounding them readied their weapons and Niijima snarled at them. “No more Miss Nice Girl!”

One hand twisted at one of the hand-grips and yellow flames sputtered from vents projecting from the front and back of the bike. Niijima pressed low and slammed her foot on the pedal, wheels of fire blazing before it squealed over the polished tile floor, leaving a scorched trail.

Throwing her weight to one side, she swept the rear end of the bike around, smashing three oni into dissipating smoke before twisting at a handgrip and billowing flames from the front vents into two purple-skinned oni rushing at her.

Another oni with skin as pale as snow came up at her from the flank, lifting a double-sided glaive, only for Ryuji to roar and call out his boat-riding skeleton pirate again, sending its giant cutlass through the white oni’s thin torso. The remaining guards surged at the group and Makoto powered through the padded benches like fallen twigs in the road. Her armored bike Persona blasted flames over the oni in front of her, gushing fire each time she pulled into a tight drift to smash through more.

Morgana pointed his crossbow to the front door. “There’s our opening. Let’s go!” He hopped up and transformed into the minibus with an anti-climactic pop.

Makoto aimed for the front and gunned the engine, flame wheels scorching the tile beneath, running over two Shadows before she shattered through the polished oak doors.

Akira took Ryuji’s arm and helped him into the catmobile, Ann following as fast as she could limp.

Morgana raced through the wrecked front doors, knocking what remained of the shattered door off its hinges. The two vehicles kept going down the ramp and into the streets of the darkened Shibuya inhabited by ATMs.

Once Makoto came to a stop, the bike vanished in a swirl of flames and she collapsed to the ground.


	38. May 25th, Flame's Resolve

Persona 5: Daywatch

Wednesday, 25 May 2016  
After School  
Kaneshiro’s Palace

An overcast sky roiled over the dark, dingy depiction of Shibuya. The ever-present wind blew money and shreds of paper outside. Akira craned his neck to see the biker as she came to a stop, then her Persona burst with a flutter of blue flame and she fell to the ground.

Morgana transformed out of his minibus form and the Phantom Thieves gathered around the student council president back to her Shujin uniform.

Ryuji placed his studded gloves on his hips with an appreciative smile. “That was effin’ awesome, Miss Biker Babe!”

Groaning, Makoto rolled onto her side, then accepted Ann’s hand to help stand before she looked up to the blond. “Do you _want_ me to smack you?”

Ryuji cringed back. “Please, no. I’m still tender from yesterday.”

Ann took her distance too. “Welp, I sure don’t need a reminder not to cross Miss President. She’d rip my arm off and beat me to death with it.”

Makoto cringed. “Please don’t say things like that.” She lifted her arms, looking at where the spiked pauldrons, then knuckle dusters used to be. “So what was that flame and costume thing about?”

Folding up his sub-machine gun, Akira looked over the street for signs of pursuit. “Don’t worry about it. Awakening to your Persona takes a lot out of you and your power might not be stable right away. Same thing happened to me. You should have a steady Phantom Thief… uh, form next time you visit the Metaverse.”

Ryuji nodded. “Don’t forget you’ll have the best sleep a’yer life, an’ you’ll wake up feelin’ like a billion yen.”

Akira gave the track star a momentary arched eyebrow. His experience was nightmares of Kamoshida killing him and brutalizing Ann in her sexy costume, then waking up sore. The transfer student focused back on the group. “Too bad about the problems this is gonna create with your sister. I hear most people are pretty close to their siblings.”

Makoto shook her head, the left corner of her mouth quirking up for a beat. “This was going to happen one way or another. My sister and I never quite… synced. Don’t get me wrong, she works so hard and I’m grateful for so much, but… I’m sorry for her, too.”

Morgana folded his crossbow and gave the dark-haired girl a nod. “You’ve certainly shown the strength of your heart. Welcome to the Phantom Thieves.”

She gave a faltering smile. “I… _do_ feel better than I have in years.” Makoto’s lips turned down. “But I’ve also never felt this tired.”

Even Akira felt the corners of his lips quirk up. “Well, you’re certainly not a slave to society anymore.”

Ryuji gave a beaming smile filled with white teeth. “Awright! The Phantom Thieves have a new hot chick!”

Blushing, Makoto blinked. “Wha?”

Akira patted her on the back. “Ignore him.”

Morgana looked over the awakened humans. “I’m sure you have plenty of questions, but I think we’re all spent for the day. Get home safe and get some well-deserved rest, everyone. We’ll reconvene and explain things tomorrow.”

Thursday, 26 May 2016  
After School  
Shujin Rooftop

Shielding his eyes, Akira strode out, squinting until he could make out his smart phone screen again. Moving up his lance to capture an opponent’s pawn, he hit ‘end turn’ and looked up, surprised to see Makoto already there, sitting at a chair and reading something on her phone. “Oh, I, uh… didn’t expect to see you up here so promptly, Senpai.”

Makoto closed her browser and set her phone down, then straightened her skirt. “Well, as the newest member of the Phantom Thieves, I’m sure I have a lot to catch up on before I’m ready to join operations.”

Morgana hopped out of the transfer student’s satchel to the desk in front of Makoto. “Well, we might as well begin with the basics the others already know. Kaneshiro’s Palace represents his heart. Somewhere inside it is his Treasure, an object symbolizing the core of his corrupt desires, the thing that his entire life has come to revolve around. As Phantom Thieves, our objective is to find and steal his treasure. Without that, his cognition will have a collapse and reorganization.”

She nodded. “So that’s how you made Kamoshida confess his crimes. A rewriting over his cognition.”

Akira found it impossible to meet her gaze, and pulled up another chair to brush off and plop down in. Talk of Kamoshida just brought up _why_ he went in, and while comeuppance was a part of everyone’s motives, in retrospect his beef with the coach seemed weakest and he was the only one who wanted to kill. Akira tipped his chair back and looked to his shogi game. “Well, we’re no SG-1, but there’s a time for blasting and a time for sneaking.”

Makoto’s brow furrowed, eyes focusing intently on a point on the fence as she pondered. “What about those strange guards turning into monsters?”

Morgana scratched at an ear with his hind leg. “Shadows. Whenever somebody’s desires become warped enough to break off into their own Palace, it draws in fragments from the collective subconscious around them.” Morgana said. “They’re encapsulated in a shell dictated by the warped thoughts of the palace ruler. That transformation you mention is them breaking into their unrestrained forms.”

The door swung open and Ryuji walked out, his pace much shorter and more controlled than usual. “Yo.” He lowered himself into another chair, began to tip it back like the transfer student was doing. His eyelid twitched, then he set it back on all four legs. “Where’s Ann?”

Akira slid a pawn up to capture his opponent’s knight. “She wanted to talk to Mishima. They both have pretty good cred in my book, so I figure it’s worth her being a little late to an introduction session.”

Ryuji shrugged, the motion looking smaller and stiffer than his usual brazen self. “As long as we can get back to kickin’ some tail in that jerk’s palace.” He gave a wide grin, showing off rows of even pearly whites. “Prez’s got a _sweet_ Phantom Thief getup _and_ her Persona’s a motorcycle. What could be cooler than that?”

Akira shrugged. “I have a feeling Big K would just say something about leathered-up pansies. But what are you so jealous for? Your Persona is a skeleton pirate riding a ship like a surfboard!”

Ryuji let himself flop back, then grunted and sat back up. “For real? Motorcycles rock _so_ much more than a dumb boat.”

Akira decided to change course before Ryuji could take the conversation into any stranger territory. He looked over the assembled group. “So does your Persona impart some knowledge or skill about how to do things like ride a motorcycle?”

Morgana’s ear twitched and he reached up a paw to scratch it. “No more than your Phantom Thief forms give you special knowledge about lock picking or other thieving.” His tail swished and brows drew together.

Makoto brushed at her uniform. “I _do_ have a license.” A momentary smile slipped over her face before embarrassment smothered it. “There was just something easier about pushing the edge over there.”

Ryuji laughed. “Yeah, you rode like a champ back there.” He cast a narrow gaze and smirked at the team leader. “An’ bikes are _way_ cooler than some dumb van, too.”

Morgana stood, his tail held up and almost vibrating. “They also can’t carry large numbers of people.” He stopped, his tail going still in a heartbeat and his eyes widening. “Carry…” His tail drooped. “Something just crossed my mind.” His ears curled down and he let out a frustrated growl.

Makoto looked between them. “Is everything all right?”

Akira moved his silver general and tapped ‘end turn’. “Morgana was a human, but something in the Metaverse twisted him into that cat form. And took away most of his memories.”

The door burst open and Ann walked out, her aquamarine eyes distant and a tinge of rose on her cheeks. A beat passed as those gathered looked up at her before she gave a tense smile. “Hey, guys.”

Ryuji drawled, “I see your acting is as good as ever.”

Ann’s faux friendliness evaporated in an instant and her cheeks turned redder. “Shut up, Ryuji.”

“Don’t start something pointless, Ryuji,” Akira shot out.

Tip of his tail twitching, Morgana cleared his throat. “_Any_way, now that we’re all together we can discuss our line-up and plan for Kaneshiro’s bank. Given the security we saw, I suspect that Kaneshiro’s going to reinforce the front door, maybe even try to seal it. We’ll have to look for another way in.”

Akira sent in his next move and looked up. “Well, if a thief is like a good spy, you never want to go out the same way you came in, right?”

Ryuji crossed his arms, glaring at the transfer student and cat-leader. “We’d better get a move on if we’re gonna get there in time. Prez doesn’t even have a gun yet, and she’s gonna need one or she’s gonna knock herself out, relyin’ on her Persona.”

“Me?” she said, holding a hand to her chest as she looked to their school satchels. “I can’t carry a gun.”

Akira smirked. “Sure you can. Real ones aren’t even half a kilo.”

Ryuji groaned, his eyes rolling back. “Ugh. We don’ even know what _kind_ of gun she’d use.” He slipped his phone out of his pocket. “You got any favs when you play shooters?”

Brushing her hair over her ear, Makoto’s eyes fell to the rooftop. “I don’t really know. There’s just not enough time between all of my other responsibilities.”

Looking up from the gun search on his phone browser, Ryuji focused on the transfer student. “You two sure are peas in a boring pod.”

Akira adjusted his glasses with his middle finger.

Morgana’s ear twitched. “_Focus_, everyone. True, she’ll need some kind of weapon to back up her Persona in the Metaverse, but once we get in there it won’t matter as much what her choice is as much as how well she can handle it. Same as her Persona.” He hopped up on a desk and looked over Ryuji, the bruise on the track star’s cheek still purple. “On the other hand, your Persona was dissipated in one blow from Kaneshiro’s Shadows when it’s normally our toughest. And you were wheezing when we split up.”

Ryuji’s brow wrinkled. “Was not!”

“Were too,” Akira tossed back, eyes on his shogi game.

Makoto pressed her palm against the side of her head. “Are these _really_ the Phantom Thieves that took down Kamoshida?”

“The _point_ is,” Morgana shouted over the spiraling conversation, “that you aren’t back up to top shape, Skull. As our first foray into Kaneshiro’s palace should have made clear, things can get really hairy really fast.”

Akira nodded, his face the picture of solemnity. “Indeed. Just look at our leader.”

Ryuji and Makoto both groaned, but Ann just rolled her eyes.

Morgana gave a narrow stare at the transfer student for several seconds before flicking an ear and looking back at the track star. “I want you to sit this one out.”

Ryuji shot to his feet. “Da eff? We _just_ got into this prick’s palace an’ you want me ta go home?”

Akira tapped ‘end turn’ and looked up from his phone. “It’s a smart call, Ryuji.”

Curling one hand into a fist, Ryuji took a step at Akira. “Eff that.”

The transfer student stood, closed the two paces between them, then poked Ryuji in the chest. The track star stumbled back, wheezing. Akira looked down to his game, seeing _opponent resigned_, and closed it. “We’re not going to give courage to the downtrodden by getting killed in his palace, Ryuji. That’ll just bring a premature end to the Phantom Thieves.”

Ann nodded. “Right.”

Makoto took her chin in her fingers. “For the downtrodden. You sound like my father.”

Ann crossed her arms, a wariness in her eyes as she looked at the upperclassman. “You say that like it’s a past-tense thing.”

The upper-classman closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. “He… Dad was a cop.”

Akira pursed his lips. Best to leave that aside unless she brought it up again. Akira glanced from Ryuji to Morgana. “So do we try another break-in today? Makoto could use Ryuji’s gun.”

Ryuji bent forward like he wanted to charge. “I ain’t sittin’ back. Ya don’t need to baby me.”

Morgana shook his head. “_Fine_. We’ll take today to ready our supplies. As long as nothing in the conscious world affects his cognition, the reprieve might even allow Kaneshiro to relax a bit, lowering his guard.”

Akira glanced at his email app, something about conscious world affecting cognition stirring in the back of his mind. “So how do we figure out what weapon Senpai uses?”

Ryuji settled into a relaxed slouch, a smirk on his face. “Heh heh. You should know _just_ what would make the _best_ simulation. We’ve been practicin’ on it every week.”

The upperclassman’s eyebrow twitched up, but Akira slapped himself in the forehead. “Of course! Gun About has pneumatic feedback so you get a feel for recoil, and several controllers for different grips.”

Morgana’s tail swished. “That’s… a very good idea, Reaper. My paws in this world can’t handle them, but now that we have four Phantom Thieves with human hands we could all take a day of training.”

Ryuji pumped a fist in the air, then flinched. “Gun About, here we come!”

Akira had no idea what they were about to unleash as they led Makoto down to the arcade in Shibuya.

Thursday, 26 May 2016  
Early Evening  
Shujin, Library

Ai stood up, brushing her pageboy-cut hair over her ear before waiving goodbye to her cluster of friends around the round table next to Makoto. With her departure from the library, the rumor-mongering at last quieted. Scratching of pens made for a peaceful relative silence for Akira to finish his homework. Clicking his pen closed, he set it down on his literature notes. Akira reached up, interlaced his fingers, and stretched his hands high. His back cracked several times and he made sure to let his arms down slow.

Alliance Force Assemble sang out of his phone and Akira pulled it out, wondering who would call him at this time of night.

When he saw _Queen_ _Togo_ on the caller ID, he rushed to the hall for some privacy from prying ears. “Mike Easter. Rubber chickens half off with the purchase of a T-shirt gun.”

“O-oh, sorry,” Hifumi stuttered. “I must have gotten a wrong number.”

“No, wait!” he shouted, standing up from his lean so fast he almost tripped himself. “Sorry,” Akira resumed at a more normal indoors volume. “I’m Akira. T-that was a joke.” He felt a droplet of sweat roll down the back of his neck. “I do stuff like that a lot. It’s just supposed to break up the monotony of the social script. Open up conversation.”

“Oh,” Hifumi said, sounding unsure if she believed him. “Well, I _finally_ finished everything for cram school today. Would it be acceptable to sit down together for a game or two? I have a few scenarios I want to try.”

“Yeah,” he blurted before even checking his calendar. Well, the beef bowl place already fired him, and he hadn’t found a new night job yet. “I’m just five minutes away from Aoyama-Itchome station. Where’d you like to meet?”

A huff came from Hifumi’s side. “Hm. I was hoping to visit the Metropolitan Art Museum in Ueno, but Madarame’s art is still packed until his special show is done.” Then a sharp intake of breath. “Oh, I know. Have you been to Nijubashi Square?”

“Not yet,” he answered.

Marunouchi, Nijubashi Square

Dodging his way through the people of Nijubashi Square like the crowds in Shujin’s halls, Akira even managed to avoid pushing most of them. High-rise business towers rose up on three sides of the square, restaurants on the ground floor wafting the smells of grilled fish, tempura, and more exotic aromas. Store fronts blazed with advertisements, but must of the night time square remained dark in a cozy sense. Metal tables and chairs gave plenty of seating in the middle of the square, too many for him to pick out his shogi nemesis.

Akira pulled out his cell phone and sent a text. [I'm here at the northwest corner, but I don't see you.]

[East side, right next to Fried Delights.]

Turning around, it took him until just a few paces to the source of the tempura smell to spot her. Her straight brown hair looked gold in the blazing yellow from the shop’s sign. Unlike her conservative Sunday dress, now she wore a dark blazer jacket with an even darker skirt showing off legs for days.

Akira shook his head and approached. “H-hi.”

Hifumi gave him an expectant smile and they settled into a couple games of shogi, starting from weird formation arrangements. Even with most of them putting her at a significant disadvantage of power pieces, she still won every time. “That’s check again. Third time. You really should protect your king better.”

Akira took off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. “I’m _trying_ a wounded gazelle gambit. It usually works against players online, as soon as they see an opening to the king they’ll throw their most powerful piece and I turn the whole game around.” He set his glasses on the board and rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know, maybe I’m just stupid.”

She brought up her hand with unexpected speed to flick him on the nose. “I’ve been enjoying our games shared together. Would you have managed that if you were stupid?” Once he donned his glasses again, Hifumi’s now-clarified stern expression drew a nervous gulp out of him, and she held the stare until he mumbled a negative. Her posture relaxed, but her brows drew together and her beautiful, dark eyes gazed into his. “You’ve always taken the games to be a challenge. What’s this really about?”

Growling, Akira sat back against his thin metal chair. “I’m just worried about school right now. I passed the midterms, but only ranked thirty first.” He took his glasses back off and brought out a cloth to clean the lenses, leaving the world outside arm’s reach blurry. “I have _never_ been worse than nineteenth. It’s… it’s embarrassing.” He took in and let out a deep breath, but could still hear the echoes of his old bastard’s ranting. “The only _good_ thing I could do was grades. It was the only thing my old bastard approved of.”

A few seconds passed before Hifumi reached for the pieces on her fold-up board. He couldn’t make out her expression, but her tone sounded calm when she said, “What’s your most problematic area?”

Akira set his glasses back on his face. “Math. I swear, it was invented to make schoolkids suffer.”

Hifumi brought a fist to attempt to cover up her smile, but couldn’t keep a quiet chuckle from slipping out. “Well, you may be in luck. I’ve always scored near the head of the class in math. I could tutor you, if you would like.”

He felt his mouth start to drift open. An excuse to spend more time with the smartest girl he’d ever met? “Sign me up!”


	39. May 27th, Rider's Handle

Persona 5: Daywatch

Friday, 27 May 2016  
After School  
Shujin Halls

Akira turned to the stairwell to the roof, Ann right behind him. He heard a not-hushed-enough whisper behind him, but grit his teeth and kept walking. Today should be the day they stormed Kaneshiro’s bank, student rumors didn’t concern him. Trotting up the stairs, he spotted Makoto already at the top landing, one hand in her pocket and the other pushing open the door.

Wondering why she was acting so wary, he stepped out the door, shielding his eyes.

Still in her track uniform, the upper-classman with curly brown hair knelt down before the planters, a basket of weeds beside her. She turned at the waist and gave the expected polite smile. “Oh, hello.” Her eyes drifted to Makoto when she followed him through the door. “Miss President.”

Makoto bowed her head. “Excuse us, we didn’t mean to intrude.”

About to jump out of the transfer student’s satchel, Morgana hunkered down, only his ears poking out of the opening. “We can’t have a Phantom Thieves meeting here while somebody else is around. Where else could we go?”

Ann twisted her finger through the end of a pigtail. “Well, we have to go to Shibuya anyway, right? Might as well meet there.”

His phone buzzed as he jogged to the train station and Akira brought it out, expecting to see Ryuji clamoring for the location of their next meet. Instead, a text from Mishima stared back at him. “I’ll be right down,” he said before opening the messenger.

[Do you have some time? I need to talk,] the 2-D class representative sent just a few minutes ago.

Akira sent back. [Is this about the Shibuya problem?]

A minute passed before Mishima returned, [Oh, no. Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt business. If you're already busy.]

[No problem,] Akira texted. [See you in class tomorrow.] With no sign of Ryuji, Akira sent a text informing their non-present member of the new rally location, specifying the Teikyuu walkway before the group filtered up the stairs and to the bridge. When the track star finally joined them, Akira picked his school satchel back up and they walked to a dead-end hallway to make the transition.

Friday, 27 May 2016  
Early Evening  
Kaneshiro’s Shibuya

The instant the dirty, dark Shibuya of Kaneshiro’s heart, a sensation of cold flickered over them, leaving them in their Phantom Thief attire. Makoto held up her hands, examining the knuckle dusters built into her suit’s gloves. Her black leather bodysuit clung to her form, though not quite to the degree of the second-skin over Ann’s generous curves bodysuit. Short spikes jutted from something like armor on her shoulders. “Wait, didn’t that only happen when we entered the bank last time?”

Morgana drew a square rod. “We’ve all infringed on a part of Kaneshiro’s heart that he guards jealously. We’ll be treated as enemies from now on, no matter where in the Palace we are. Fortunately, this influence his cognition is also what allows us to steal his distorted heart.”

The rest of the Phantom Thieves assembled their weapons. Ryuji clicked his pump-action shotgun together, then handed it to the upper-classman. “And this is yours, Post-Apocalyptic Girl.”

She took the weapon, but her face twisted like she bit a lemon at his proposed name. “You are _not_ calling me that.”

“You _do_ need a code name.” Morgana snapped open his crossbow, checked the bayonet, then locked it back.

Ryuji eyed Makoto, not quite hiding his eyes lingering on her chest and hips. “Uh… Shoulder Pads?”

Akira rolled his eyes. “That is _not_ what you were looking at.”

Ryuji clicked his rifle together. “No, but she’d’a smacked me if I said _that_.”

Shaking his head, Akira turned back to the upperclassman. “Sukeban?”

Makoto’s eyes narrowed. “I am _not_ some gang mastermind!”

Ann braced a hand on one hip and leaned her weight on her opposite foot, with no sign she realized how hot the pose looked when she was in red leather. “Spike?”

Makoto glanced at her shoulders, one eye squinting for a moment before she focused back on the team. “I don’t feel like that fits either.”

Crossing his arms, Akira thought back to the sight of Makoto braced on her motorcycle-persona, flames pouring from the wheels and vents on the front and back. “Witch? Your persona looked tough as hell and you sure blew the fuck up out of those Shadows.”

“Ugh,” she said, shaking her hand as if trying to brush off the suggestion. “I’d rather something a little more… refined.”

Morgana pursed his lips. “I should warn you that your Persona will seem a lot more powerful the first time you call it out than subsequent summons because you have no sense of finesse with it yet. It’s like you lack the ability to hold back the first time. Even so, your persona _was_ extremely strong.” He tapped the crossbow’s limb against his head as he thought. “Joker, what’s the strongest piece in chess?”

Makoto smiled. “Queen. That has a nice—”

Bursting out laughing, Akira clutched his stomach. Especially in her Phantom Thief outfit, she lacked any shade of Hifumi’s natural grace and dignity. After regaining control of his breathing, he stood up and wiped a metaphorical tear from his eye. “There’s _nothing_ queenly about you, Prez. ‘Badass ranger’ is the kinda vibe you got.” He thought back through movies for an example. “Maybe something sounding outta Mad Max? Damn near _everyone_ in that movie was badass. Nightrider?”

Makoto stood in silence for a few moments, her lips pressed into a thin line before she straightened. “That’s true.”

Ryuji slung his rifle, moving slow as he slipped the loop over his shoulders. “All our code names are super short, though. I mean, when we’re in the middle of a firefight the last thing you want is some long name.”

“True,” Ann said, crossing her arms and tapping her chin with her finger. “Just Rider?”

“I think I would prefer Nightrider, but very well.” Makoto took her pump-action shotgun in both hands. “So what’s the strategy for the mission?”

Ryuji blinked. “Uh, strategy?”

The crack of Akira’s gloved palm striking his face echoed in the sheltered hall.

Makoto’s eyes widened as she looked across the junior students. “Have the Phantom Thieves been acting without any plans?”

Ryuji tweaked something on top of his rifle. “We run inta Shadows, we beat the shit outta them.”

Akira sighed. “That’s not a strategy, Reaper, that’s what we do along the way. We recon the palace to figure out where the treasure is and what crap is in the way, disabling traps as necessary. Once we locate the Treasure, we send calling cards in the real world to make it manifest here so we can steal it and cause the change of heart.”

Morgana nodded with a smile. “That’s right! Our first step today will be to find a new ingress.” He turned to Ryuji. “Right after Reaper returns home.”

“Eff that,” Ryuji snapped, squaring his shoulders. “I backed you all up every dive in Mementos while we were tryin’ ta find that yakuza shithead’s name. Why shouldn’t I get to see this throu—?”

Akira poked him in the ribs and the track star stumbled backwards with a wheeze. “What exactly happened in there anyway? All we got was the audio.”

Makoto cringed. “He took a few solid kicks to the ribs.”

“I’m okay now—” he protested.

Morgana rubbed his head with his hands now equipped with opposable thumbs. “Reaper, you’re still hurt. That means a vulnerability Shadows _will_ exploit as soon as they figure out it’s there. You all voted me to be the leader because you expected me to keep a level head. The objective choice is for you to hold back when you’re injured, not charge forward.”

When the track star clenched his rifle, Ann stepped forward, just a little sashay to her walk. “Reaper, we need to be at the top of our game to beat the Shadows and steal his heart. If you die here, what do we tell your mother?”

His jaw flapped twice before he clenched his fists, then slumped. “Fine.”

He started to turn back for the Teikyuu building when Makoto dashed into his way. “Wait!” She swallowed, looking at everything but him for a long second before stopping on her new shotgun. “How do I take this apart to make it smaller?”

Akira came up next to her. “Yeah. There’s no way she’d be able to hide that thing in her skirt.”

She eeped, but Ryuji laughed. With the tension broken, he showed her how to disassemble it, then put it back together. He broke down his rifle, slipping the pieces back into the pockets inside his plated black jacket before drawing his phone and walking away.

That done, the remaining Phantom Thieves walked the short distance back to the bank. The front doors – or the shattered remnants of them – lay on the steps, a steel roller gate now blocking the front entrance.

Seeing their entry cut off, Makoto sighed “Sorry, everyone. I overdid it the other day.”

Akira rolled his eyes. “You know… if you said that around my old bastard, he’d smack you with his bulletproof clipboard.”

Makoto snorted a laugh. “Bulletproof clipboard.” She paused to glance at Ann, noticing the other girl’s unamused look. Makoto followed back to him, her eyes scanning his face, the trace amusement draining from hers. She clapped her hands over her mouth. “Oh my god!”

“Shh!” Morgana hissed. “Keep quiet. Our first tool of defeating Shadows is not getting caught.” He scanned the huge, ostentatious building. “It feels like his wariness has reduced. Our first entry must have coincided with something happening to him in real life. We’ll still need to be wary, though.”

Slipping around the perimeter, at one point at the back he stopped and cackled, rubbing his hands together. “Perfect. Somebody _always_ leaves a window open.” He climbed up the ivy and leaped into the window, opened it all the way, then disappeared inside for a few minutes before returning with a coil of thin rope in his hands. “Here you go.”

Akira climbed up into the open floor-plan office. Rows of desks filled the center of the room, with wide file cabinets lining the walls. Curious, he checked for his name but found nothing where Kurusu should have fallen. Sakamoto was next, and his heart sank on not just finding a folder Ryuji with a -1 million yen balance on Ryuji, but more papers for his immediate family. The next page listed summary financial information for Sakamoto Youko at a dental clinic in Mitaka, and another with far smaller numbers for Sakamoto Hiroshi.

Seeing Ann come through the window next, he checked for Takamaki and found a folder labeled “Takamäki”. On it were a series of transactions several hundred thousand yen each. “Panther, come look at this. I think he’s got a file on your family, but it’s misspelled.”

She rushed closer, took it and read for only a moment before letting out a relieved breath. “That’s mom and dad’s clothing line. They changed their name to Takamaki when they moved to Tokyo. Exotic works better for products than people in Japan.” Ann pressed her lips into a thin line. “It’s still kind of disturbing to see that he’s investing in us.”

Akira blinked, then stepped back to let her put the folder back. “That’s right, you mentioned growing up in Finland that time we all got out of Kamoshida’s castle.”

While Makoto climbed, the team leader stepped out to scout. Akira kept browsing until he froze at a familiar name. Togo. Pulling the folder out, he found a stack of sheets a centimeter thick. The name at the top read Togo Mitsuyo, with amounts above a hundred thousand yen going into his businesses, noting transfers elsewhere, and amounts about eighty percent going back to a debit account in Togo’s name. “He’s got a lot of money laundering going on.”

“None of that’s his treasure,” Morgana snapped in a hushed tone. He looked to their newest member coming in the window. “Let’s go. Quietly.”

He stood by the door, tail swishing back and forth before turning the knob and pulling it open. The rest of the Phantom Thieves followed him into a hallway with an arched ceiling and the same kind of beige wallpaper as the lobby. The hunched form of one of the shadowy guards paced away from them. Even from behind, he could see this one had a heavier guard uniform including a padded vest and white helmet.

Akira pressed his sub-machine gun wire stock against his shoulder and advanced only a step before Morgana snapped out a fist for ‘halt’.

The leader lifted his crossbow and shot a bolt into a camera in the corner.

Akira grimaced. He hadn’t even noticed the camera was there.

Morgana paced behind the guard until passing a conference room door, which opened. Another Shadow guard stood there, looking down at the team leader. It wore a padded vest like armored car guards, and a white helm with a full faceplate complete with glowing cyan eyes. The towering entity raised its meter-long Tonfa.

Akira leaped, catching its faceplate with one hand. Expecting the entire helm to come off like it did with the knights in Kamoshida’s castle, he yanked up. The faceplate snapped off, smoke billowing from where its face should have been.

With a moan like wind passing, it fell to its knees, its shape shrinking as smoke poured out, clinging to the guard and wrapping around it.

Akira braced his sub-machine gun against his shoulder, laser dot drawing a line through the smoke.

In a blink, the murky dark faded and a muscular woman in a black catsuit stood up, a long tail held erect behind her and enormous hand claws extending from her gloves. An iron mouthguard covered her lower face, making it hard to tell whether she was smiling or snarling.

Akira shot her with his sub-machine gun, sending her stumbling against the opposite wall, and an instant later a crossbow bolt flitted into her stomach, bringing her to her knees. Makoto came up alongside him, shotgun held out and ready.

“Hold on,” Ann said with an expectant grin. “This is gonna be great.”

The team leader lined up his crossbow with the transformed Shadow’s face. “Where is the control center for all those cameras?”

The catsuited Shadow looked at the guns pointed at her, then whimpered. “Security control is in B-1, but Surveillance is on the second floor. But both are locked by keycards. It would even be impossible for someone with _my_ fabulous skills.”

Morgana lowered his crossbow, stroking his chin with his other hand. “There’s always a way.”

Akira shrugged, scanning the Shadow’s posture for signs of how to talk it into cooperating. “Breaking into two security centers. Think you’d be up for a heist of the century?”

A feminine purr emanated from the felinoid woman. “You’ve got strength _and_ guile. Count me in.”

Makoto opened her mouth to ask what was going on when the Shadow on her knees burst into black streaks that zipped into Akira’s mask, sending him reeling two steps back. Ann caught him before he could get far, and he shook himself of the passing sharp tingling sensation. He straightened his mask and looked down to the team leader. “Ready to go.”

Makoto’s jaw flapped open and closed twice. “_What_ was _that_?”

Morgana gave a haughty chuckle. “Joker is capable of absorbing and using Shadows as his own Persona.” He scratched his ear. “Or something to that effect.”

Ann chuckled. “Yeah. He’s like a Swiss army knife, a Persona for every occasion.”

Akira took his sub-machine gun in both hands and aimed back down the hall they were headed. “Let’s not put me up on some pedestal, I’ve got a couple and none of ‘em are fast like Ryuji’s Persona. Or as good at nuking enemies as yours. Even Morgana’s can smooth over some of the damage our Personas take.”

Morgana took point and started a quick pace down the hall, pausing at the corner before dashing to a wide alcove that ended up being an opening to a drab stairwell. It led down, but the team leader dashed down and came up only seconds later. “No access to the basement, and there’s a grating locking the first floor.”

Akira turned his sub-machine gun’s red dot projector on and glanced up at the ceiling corners. “That works for me. The surveillance place should be here.”

Makoto fidgeted with her grip on the shotgun Ryuji loaned her. “Why do I get the feeling that this isn’t the first barrier we’re going to have to overcome?”

Morgana held up a fist for ‘shut up and pay attention’, then led the team out behind a Shadow guard pacing past the stairs. He stepped to the left with Ann beside him, pistol raised.

Akira drifted to the right side of the hallway, waiting until Ann nodded behind her raised weapon before leaping up, planting a boot on the Shadow guard’s back as he snagged its faceplate and pulled up, only to snap off like it did on the other guard. Letting momentum carry him, he hit the wall and spun around, raising his weapon as a thick smoke gushed from the manifesting Shadow.

A familiar brawny humanoid body greeted them as the red-skinned oni stood up, club across its shoulder with the same casual ease as Ryuji with a baseball bat.

Akira and Ann hopped back, both summoning their Personnas. The shape coalescing in front of Akira towered over the teens but not quite as tall as the smirking oni, a head like an owl and a shawl of large, dark blue feathers over his shoulders. Andras swept out a clawed hand, sending a trio of ice shards at the same time as Carmen sent a ball of ice exploding into the oni.

Morgana shouted, “Get back, Nightri—!”

Shaking the frost off its head, the oni made a downward swing at Makoto.

She fell backwards in her effort to evade, crawling backwards as she aimed her shotgun with one hand. The weapon thundered, but only caused the oni to pause its advance. It raised its club in one hand.

A thorned whip wrapped around its throat as Ann shouted from further down the hall, “No you don’t!”

Akira recalled Andras, thinking through how well the other Personas and attacks seems to do to the physically sturdy oni. “Agathion!”

The blue-green creature hiding in a golden vase coalesced, then waggled its fingers and shot a lightning bolt into the oni, sending it stumbling and cross-eyed.

A whispy, pink-and-blue foxfire danced over the oni and Morgana growled with effort before the oni’s stance faltered. Then the whole monstrous Shadow jumped like a spooked cat, its limbs flopping with a crunch. The oni crumpled to the ground and dissolved into smoke.

Dismissing his Persona, Akira looked down at the team leader. “Zorro can do _that_?”

Morgana panted for a few moments. “Not… usually. It’s more of a support Persona, its most powerful abilities can only be deployed when the Shadows are stunned or compromised somehow.” He looked to the newest Phantom Thief. “You froze.”

Makoto looked away, red-faced under her iron plate of a mask. “Sorry. I saw what you were all doing and wanted to jump in doing the same, but… when it transformed and looked right at _me_, I forgot what I should do.”

“Take some distance to give yourself some options.” Akira reached out a hand to help her up.

Morgana cleared his throat. “There’s going to be some adjustment period as you define your own fighting style. We had to stop Ryuji from charging in—”

“Like yesterday,” Akira interrupted.

Ann chuckled. “True enough, but it’s not like you don’t have a lot of the same problem. Either way, he settled in beside us.” She looked to the girl in black leather. “You just have to be careful to act _with_ us.”

The upperclassman nodded, but Morgana gave them no extra time to chat. He cocked his crossbow and slid along a wall to a steel, divided door with top and bottom halves locked shut. A magnetic card reader sat against the door frame.

Akira tapped his sub-machine gun against his frizzy-haired dome. “I think that’s a bit beyond my ability to pick.”

Morgana looked up the tall wall of the hallway, following the lines with a squint. Then his eyes dropped back to the doors and he trotted past two bland office doors before coming to a heavier steel door. He hopped up to grab the handle, the rattle of a locked door greeting their ears. Putting away his crossbow, he switched for his lock picks.

Akira and Ann fanned out around him to cover his flanks, with Makoto joining them after a brief moment of trying to decide which direction to worry about. After a few moments of scratching, the knob clicked and Morgana pushed the door open. A small utility room with huge air ducts lay beyond.

The others followed inside, but Makoto fidgeted. “What can we do here?”

Akira pulled her in. “I nominated Morgana the leader because he’s got good ideas. He wouldn’t have asked us to come in here without a reason.” He looked up at the piping, and across at a water heater. “You… do have a reason?”

Morgana fiddled at the bolts of a panel by one of the large, squared air ducts snaking up to the ceiling before disappearing to all three walls shared with other rooms. “Did you forget the passages we snuck through in Kamoshida’s castle? Everybody’s mind has seams connecting one part to another, it’s just how they’re conceptualized in his Palace.” With a tinking of bolts falling to the floor, he pulled the panel away and jumped inside, disappearing upwards.

Akira followed, hearing the leather of Ann’s boot soles and a moment later a heavier thump of something covered in rubber. He crawled after the team leader through the cramped air duct for what felt like ten meters before Morgana stopped at a vent and chuckled. Not at the right angle to look through the slits, all Akira could tell was white light came from the other side. “What?”

Morgana pulled out another tool and slipped it through one of the slits, a quiet ratcheting before he slipped it to a slit at another corner. “This is that surveillance office. Get ready to rush out and hit hard, we’re only going to have the element of surprise for a moment and only one can fit through this vent at a time.”

Akira glanced back, and spotted the glint of light from Ann’s and Makoto’s eyes as they nodded. When he turned back to Morgana, he gave the same acknowledgment and tightened his grip on his sub-machine gun.

The team leader slipped his tool into a slit and unscrewed the last corner.

The team burst out of the vent, Morgana taking a wild shot with his crossbow as the others came to their feet.

While only one Shadow guarded this room, it had the same heavy helmet and faceplate as the others. It wore a thick, yellow padded vest over its considerable girth, no sign it noticed the bolt sticking out. Its body bulged and seized, black oozing out to cover it like an obsidian cocoon. Akira blasted a burst into it, but too late.

The pulsing black exploded, revealing the unraveling coils of a fat, leathery-skinned serpent. Its grey hide undulated over muscle. Milky eyelids blinked over gold eyes with slit pupils and it reared up at the arrayed Phantom Thieves. “Who daress tresspass on the domain of Lotan? Your penalty shall be grave, and penaltiess are meant to be paid!”

Makoto sidled closer to the transfer student to whisper, “He was about to grab a keycard from a reader behind him before we dropped in.”

Akira nodded, then refocused on the rounded face of the bulging leviathan. “I guess you’ve got a lot of back-pay for all Kaneshiro’s extortion, then. Nekomata!”

Motes of light gathered with a pop as the small Persona appeared behind Lotan’s sinuous form, allowing her to strike with her oversized hand claws while Ann and Morgana summoned their own Personas. Carmen’s ball of ice shattered against its hide and it ignored whatever wispy wave Zorro threw at it.

Lotan roared, rearing its head back as cutting winds whipped around it, slicing at the Personas attempting to tangle with the leviathan directly. Akira squinted against the wind, his long coat shielding him from the worst of it at his distance, but cringing against the feeling of slashing wind blades on Nekomata.

Akira looked over Lotan as it twisted, evading a thrust from Zorro, then shrugging off Carmen’s spiked whip. Nekomata was agile enough to dodge the Shadow beast as long as it didn’t cast large spells like that, but they needed something else to really _hurt_ it. “Agathion!”

His Persona dissipated, motes of silvery light coalescing before bursting into the green-skinned imp hiding in its golden vase. It waggled its fingers at the leviathan, looking silly but sending a respectable lightning bolt into the Shadow.

Lotan whipped around and let out a bellow, pounding winds smashing the floating Persona against the beige wallpaper, leaving an imprint where “days since last workplace accident” used to be.

Akira fell to one knee.

Makoto’s shotgun barked twice before she lowered the weapon. “Johanna!”

Blue swirled underneath her, the same steel-armored bike as before assembling itself and lifting her up, one panel sliding open and a black clamp taking her shotgun.

Akira couldn’t hide his jealousy. “It even has a gun rack. All it needs are cup-holders.”

Flaming wheels blazed over the floor, leaving a scorched trail as Makoto let out a long roar, popping her motorcycle Persona’s front wheel up at the last moment to catch and tear a blaze down the leviathan’s side, gushing flames as it went.

Unsure whether the flames or brute physical power had more of an effect, Akira called in another Persona. “Pillar of Heaven!”

Distracted with trying to swat Zorro or crush Makoto, Lotan didn’t even notice the column of churning fire and darkness extend from the tall ceiling. The leviathan bellowed at Morgana’s persona, sending it flying into the wall and the leader sprawling to the ground.

As if gaining a second wind from the success, Lotan twisted its bulky, muscled body, slamming back against Johanna, sending it skidding across the ground.

Carmen threw a blue orb that detonated in a cloud of ice shards, but the leviathan didn’t even flinch as it drew up and unleashed another slicing wind storm on the dancing Persona. Ann cried out as she collapsed to the floor.

Hand clenching on his sub-machine gun in rage, he rushed to her as he directed his Persona. A ball of flame the size of his body flung out of the churning column, smashing into the leviathan’s head and knocking it into the bank of screens lining the wall behind it.

Straightening, Lotan looked down over Akira and Ann, drawing in breath for a heavy attack.

Flames blasted at its hindquarters and Makoto drove right up onto the leviathan, fire billowing down at it from every vent on her bike-Persona. “Just go down already!”

Lotan rolled, tossing her off. Makoto’s Persona dissipated and she tumbled over the floor.

Zorro plunged down from above, burying its sword to halfway down the blade in the muscled beheamoth.

Lotan snarled and its milky eyelids slid closed, centering another storm of slicing winds on itself. Carmen backed off, but the storm battered Zorro and flung it into the ceiling.

Helping his blonde classmate stay steady on her feet, Akira asked, “I think it’s immune to Carmen’s ice. Can you damage it with physical blows?”

Breathing hard, Ann looked from it to him. “That’s not what Carmen’s good at, but I’ll do my best.”

Zorro zipped in and out as Morgana ran up to the longcoated Phantom Thief. “This could go on for hours. You and Rider both have Personas with the power of fire. I think you can combine your efforts for a stronger blow that might finish it off.”

Akira glanced at his sub-machine gun, then up at the huge leviathan. “How?”

“Instead of trying to blow something up, send your flames to her,” Morgana shouted over the howl of winds and kawoosh of fire. “Her Persona should know what to do to convert that into an even more powerful blast. The only problem is your conscious relationship and whether you trust each other.”

He looked over at the girl in a black leather riding suit. She blackmailed the only friends he had, but they had a common enemy now. That should be enough. He nodded to the team leader.

“Rider!” Morgana cupped one hand around the side of his mouth. “Let your Persona feed on his flames!”

She swung around to avoid another slam from the beast. Incredulous, she shouted, “What?”

“Pillar!” Akira called, and the column undulated for a moment before sending an oblong burst of fire at her.

She hunkered down on Johana, its red tracery glowing brighter. The instant before it collided, the red dimmed. Yellow flames exploded over her, splashing against the leviathan. Its roar almost drowned out her cry of pain.

Zorro and Carmen settled into a pattern of taking turns to flit in, stab or slash, and flit out. Makoto returned to shooting small bolts of fire into it at a distance, and her gutsy runs where she drove Johanna right up onto it to gush flames over its body. Akira gave up on trying to hurt it with darkness and pounded the beast with fire for minutes as the group wore it down, until at last a blow penetrated its hide and smoke gushed out from the stab, then its mouth, then smaller cuts from earlier in the fight. Lotan withered and at last dissipated into fading smoke.

Feeling like he ran two marathons back to back, Akira accepted Ann’s help to steady him. Where the last ooze dissipated lay a metal rod as long as his hand, with a diamond cross-section and random squared nubs jutting out. He picked it up before joining the others at the card reader. “You… okay? You don’t look burned.” He handed her the nobby metal rod.

Taking the dropped rod, Makoto pursed her lips and examined it. She passed it to Ann. “Think this is a key?” When the model shrugged, she turned to the transfer student. “What exactly was that fire thing?”

Akira clenched his free hand. “Hey, it’s not like I _wanted_ to burn you. I was trying to help…” he glanced to the team leader, “what exactly was it? Strengthen her Persona?”

Morgana sighed. “I’m sorry, I should have realized this would be likely to happen. Your Personas can enhance each other, at least for brief periods, but to do so successfully requires a bond of trust that goes beyond conscious necessity.” He glanced between Akira and Ann. “That’s why I didn’t bring up the possibility in Kamoshida’s castle even after you acquired Andras, even though it could use ice just like Carmen. Your interests were aligned, but you didn’t truly… have that bond until after defeating Kamoshida’s Shadow.”

“But we both wanted to pound Kamoshida,” Akira snapped back.

“Joker.” Ann sighed and pressed her hand against her back, one eye squinting. “Ease up.”

Makoto turned back to the bank of monitors… at least the quarter of them that hadn’t been smashed in the fight. “Well, we’ve incidentally hampered the surveillance capabilities in Kaneshiro’s bank.” She scanned the control station in the middle, the whole thing bent from a collision from Johanna’s steel plating, but still functional. “It looks like there are two separate camera circuits.”

Ann looked from the damaged monitors to the blinking lights on the control panel. “Think you can turn them off?”

Makoto rubbed her chin, then reached out, flipped a couple of switches, turned a dial counter-clockwise, then tapped a button. Her finger glanced off and she shook her hand. “Looks like that one’s stuck.” She looked for another few moments, then repeated much the same sequence on a different set of switches, dials, and tapped another wide, green button. This one depressed and three of the monitors went black, white text stating, “No feed.”

Akira smiled. “So how far do you think we can get, fearless leader?”

Morgana looked askance at him. “You’re wavering on your feet and trying to press on? Panther might still have some stamina left since Carmen couldn’t use ice magic, but this was Rider’s first major fight. We don’t have a lot of stamina left to go, so I’d rather not risk running into any other surprises.” He collapsed his crossbow and pointed to the wall. “We know there’s a control center in basement one, and there’s a vault two levels below that. If that keycard doesn’t get us into that control center, it’ll let us do something else once we can get in.”

Grimacing but conceding the point, Akira twisted a dial-style switch against the wall to unlock the surveillance office door and the Phantom Thieves made their way back to the dark streets.

Ann yawned into her hand, then shook her head. “Sorry. I feel like I need a long, hot bath after all that.”

Makoto stretched one arm up, wincing. “You’re telling me.”

Morgana looked over the Phantom Thieves. “I know you all want to get this done as soon as possible.” His gaze fell on Akira. “Some more than others. But I think we did pretty well today. We didn’t find a safe zone, but did disable half of the cameras and any traps linked to them. _And_ we have two different kinds of keys for some future area. Just like with Kamoshida, making sure progress will be more important than trying to rush. Does anybody have anything the doctor might need to look at?”

Ann shook her head, her blonde pigtails tousling. After a moment, Makoto gave the same. While sore from repeated blows and a couple of his Personas being pounded by the leviathan’s cutting winds, Akira knew he wouldn’t have any bruises that would show beyond the school uniform tomorrow.

“Good,” Morgana said, his little white hands on the pouch-lined belt on his hips. “Then let’s break and get some good rest for the night. I have something I need to look into, but I’ll meet you at Leblanc this evening.”


	40. May 27th, Philistine

Persona 5: Daywatch

Friday, 27 May 2016  
Evening  
Yongen, Back Streets

No sooner did Akira pass a father and his grade-school son than the eerie string music of the Goa’uld sang from his pocket. The boy pulled away from his father and gave Akira a funny look. “What kind of weird song is that?”

The man took his son’s hand and pulled him to the side. “It’s not polite to insult other people’s taste in music.”

Akira slowed. His father never would have never defended someone else. The transfer student shook his head and kept walking. He pulled out his phone, _Principal__’__s Lapdog_ on the caller ID. Still tired from the fight against Leviathan, he remembered Morgana’s combined-fire-attack didn’t work out so well so he swallowed his irritation. “Budd Tugly’s cosmetic and make-up services.”

Niijima sighed from the other end of the line. “_Really_?”

The team leader stood up from the satchel, front paws on his shoulder. “Be nice, Joker.”

He leaned against a concrete wall just a few paces from the narrow road in front of Leblanc. “What’s up?”

“I forgot to mention earlier,” she said. The sound of a heavy door swinging closed banged through the speakers. “I passed some of those names you gave me to Sae.”

The tips of Morgana’s claws sank through Akira’s school jacket. “Why doesn’t that sound like good news?”

A metallic clinking like keys jangling came from her side. “And I have good news and bad news. The good news is she read the list and I’m pretty sure she sent them to some investigators she trusts to check them out.” Tense silence stretched on before she let out a heavy breath. “The bad news is she’s investigating the Phantom Thieves.”

“What?” Morgana blurted, hopping up to perch all fours on the transfer student’s shoulder, as if that could give him a better vantage point to shout at the student’s phone. “How could she find out about us? Did—?”

“Whoa,” Akira said, standing up, the motion jarring the guide-trapped-in-cat-form into a jump to the road. “Calm down there for a second, O fearless leader.” He looked to his phone. “Any risk of us being found out?”

Silence loomed for a moment. “I don’t see how she could discover that world, but I overheard her talking to some investigator who sounded like an expert on Apathy Syndrome and mental shutdowns.”

Morgana’s ears pressed against his skull. “This could be bad.”

“This could be nothing,” Akira riposted. He raised his voice to talk back to the upperclassman. “It can’t change our fundamental mission. The Phantom Thieves aren’t about going for the safest option, it’s about trying to make things safer for others. Just stay calm and don’t blab and we should be fine. Just keep an ear out.”

Niijima hemmed and hawed for a moment. “Okay.” Silence stretched on for a few long seconds before she asked, “Do you think we could meet to talk in person tomorrow?”

“I’m upgrading gear at Untouchable, you’ll have to wait ‘til Sunday,” Akira said. The conversation over, he went back into his contacts and looked at his nickname for Makoto for a few moments. _Principal__’__s lapdog_ wasn’t appropriate when she fought alongside them, or helped smuggle names from changes in Mementos to the police. He deleted that and replaced it with _President Niijima_.

Saturday, 28 May 2016  
Early Morning  
Shibuya Underground

Akira trotted through the concourse linking together half a dozen train stations in the Shibuya underground. The mass of noise pressed down on him, the way every single person walked his own way making him feel just a little dizzy. Angling for some slightly more open space, someone _still_ ran into him as he skirted around a temporary stand selling umbrellas.

Before he could get his fist up, a low, young man’s voice said, “I’m sorry.”

With the two being almost the only two still people in the underground, it was easy to take a moment to look over the tall boy. He wore a long-sleeved white shirt with some funny symbol in dark blue at both sides of his split collar. His dark gray eyes bored into Akira, and he held black bag big enough to hide a storefront-display flatscreen TV slung over his shoulder. Curious, Akira asked, “What’s that?”

The dark-haired boy glanced down to it, then back up with a sense of smothering ennui. “Oh, just my paintings. I’d been caught up helping Master with a slump he’s having. He’s not been well since the police moved back his Shibuya exhibition. Alas, all I could manage for school was a trite landscape to demonstrate technique.” His shoulders slumped even more, as if he’d just confessed to embezzling a whole bank’s finances. “There is no beauty in it.”

The boy seemed a near age, but without recognizing the school uniform he couldn’t be sure if he was a senior or college student. Shrugging, Akira gave a wave goodbye. “Well, Shibuya’s going to be stirred up for a while. When it rains, it pours, you know?”

The boy in white nodded, “Every monsoon.” He shifted his painting-bag strap and shuffled into the crowd.

Akira stared for a moment, wondering how he could miss such a common idiom, then shrugged and decided to get to Shujin.

Saturday, 28 May 2016  
Afternoon  
Shujin, Class 2-D

Akira tapped his pen against his notebook, making little effort to listen to Inui-sensei over the hushed conversations. Inui’s jaws clenched whenever he stopped talking, and he spoke faster than before. His tie knot skewed to the left, making his whole body look off-center.

The tip of Morgana’s tail twitched. “This teacher’s been acting funny for weeks. What’s up?”

Akira clicked his pen closed and answered in a low tone. “They couldn’t hush up Kobayakawa facing ten years. They’ve only fired Chouno so far, but I bet he’s in the line for the chopping block.”

“Well,” Morgana muttered from the desk, “he’s not doing himself any favors by losing his grip on teaching.”

Inui babbled through the remainder of his lecture, sounding plaintive when he tried to start a question and answer session with the last five minutes of class. He called the class representative to clean the chalk boards.

Mishima tapped out something on his phone, then called, “Yamamoto.”

The girl in the back corner of the class let out an indignant huff, but got up and started erasing.

Morgana’s tail stilled. “That’s the first time your class rep has delegated a job to someone else.”

“Perk of the job,” Akira said, packing up his things. He paused and thought back. The class rep sounded terse, but focused on his own work. It wasn’t the despondent droning he’d sounded like for weeks. The last bell of the day rang and the hushed conversations exploded into an assault on his ears. Using their lack of attention as cover, Akira asked, “You think we can get to that other control room?”

Morgana’s eyes narrowed. “Not today. I’d have to see her to evaluate for sure, but I bet Nightrider is still tired and recovering. Reaper is still healing, and if a bunch of those oni-type Shadows show up then just you, me, and Lady Ann are not going to be enough. The Phantom Thieves are resting today, and that’s an order.”

Striding across the front of the class, Ann paused, her eyes meeting Mishima’s for a long moment before her face flushed and she speed-walked out.

Akira slipped his last book in his satchel and watched her exit. “I wonder what’s up with her and Mishima.”

Morgana forgot his need to hide on campus and popped up to try to spy the blonde. “Why? What’d he do to Lady Ann?”

Akira pushed him into the satchel and hissed, “Keep it down. A few people have spotted you and don’t care, but no pets on campus is still an official rule.”

Taking to the halls, before he could head for the stairs up, a blond popped out of the crowd. Ryuji flashed a wide grin. “Yo, dude. How’s progress goin’ against that mafia asshole?”

Akira pulled the track star to the wall so others could go around and ignore them. “Quiet!” He glanced about, seeing only disinterested faces rushing their own way or already absorbed in their own conversations. “Makoto caught us because we were sloppy. No talking about business in public.”

With a leering grin, Ryuji slipped his hands in his pockets and wiggled his eyebrows. “Already just Makoto?”

Groaning, Akira rolled his eyes. “C’mon, I like bein’ polite if it’s returned, but I isn’t like I was all ‘Sakamoto-san’ after _you_ started helping us.”

Ryuji’s smirk held steady. “Hey, ain’t ya protestin’ a bit much?” He flexed his shoulders. “Ya got some time? If Morgana’s still makin’ ya take a day off, we could do some trainin’.”

His ears pressed against his black head. “I _am_, and you should be taking it easy today, too. Bruised ribs take a while to heal.”

Akira straightened his glasses. “We could take a day to hit the books. Most of the midterms were easy, but I’m still worried about my score on math.”

Ryuji turned to face him straight on for the first time in the conversation, brow furrowed and eyes narrowed. “Did you just say the midterms were _easy_? You _traitor_.”

Morgana rolled his eyes. “I’m not saying you should obsess over it like Joker does, but you wouldn’t have to worry about it if you studied regularly.”

Ryuji sneered at the team leader. “Like a _cat_ would know.”

Taking off his glasses, Akira pressed his palm over one eye. “Why don’t you go sneak around and see if you can pick up a Mementos target or any useful rumors?”

Morgana thrust out his chest. “_Fine_. Lady Ann would know how to appreciate a _gentleman__’__s_ presence. And _somebody_ needs to make sure your class representative isn’t taking advantage of her.” He hopped out and slipped unnoticed through the crowd of people all distracted with their own problems.

“Whatever. I’ll see him at Leblanc.” With him out of the picture, Akira returned his glasses to their place and looked the track star in his brown eyes. “I heard the track team was getting back together, at least unofficially. You in on that?”

Ryuji gestured his head at the stairs and Akira followed him out to the courtyard. Instead of stopping at the nook with vending machines, Ryuji led him past the practice building to the athletics field.

Akira slipped his hands in his pockets and looked out at a pair of students in PE uniforms running a circuit around the field perimeter. “What was it like?”

Ryuji came to a stop next to the transfer student, shadowing his posture. “Whaddya mean?”

Eyes following the pair of runners, Akira shifted on his feet. “Being in a team. A place where people’d still be there with you even after the class bell rang.”

Ryuji watched the runners for a moment. “Track wasn’t exactly a team sport. Not like volleyball or baseball. When you’re runnin’, it’s kinda like it’s just you, the track, an’ the wind. When it fin’ly comes up for your hundred meter, it’s all up to _you_ to crush that distance as fast as ya can.”

Akira took in a long, deep breath, then let it out. Despite his own desire, the list of names they took down while closing on Kaneshiro scrolled before his mind’s eye. All of them with dozens of victims, people who waited for the Phantom Thieves because they had no-one to turn to, nowhere to go. “Kinda like life? When it comes down to it, nobody ever sticks next to you.”

Ryuji elbowed the transfer student. “C’mon, dude. The competition’s where the crowd’s’re at, but that’s just one part of the sport. You remember when we ran at Inokashira?”

Akira raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“You sure picked up the pace after you saw me pass you.”

Akira motioned to give a friendly jab, then thought the better of it. “Heh. You were slacking, you needed a push.”

Ryuji gave a wide, toothy grin and jabbed back with both of his hands. “Yeah, exactly. That’s what was so great about practice. There’d be thirty of us on the boy’s track team, runnin’ the streets here. Sometimes you start feelin’ tired an’ if there’s no one there to measure up to, you let yourself fall back. But when there’s another guy right at your elbows, somethin’ about it lights a fire inside ya and ya run faster an’ longer than ya thought.”

The two runners, closing their circuit of the practice field, slowed as they came up to the pair of juniors still in academic uniforms. The one with a dark sweatband over his dark hair put his hands on his head and paced away from them, but the brown-haired one glared. “I thought you were a runner all the way to your bones, Sakamoto. Can’t even get changed anymore?”

Ryuji’s fists clenched and he took a step at him, but flinched and held one hand to his ribs. “Even _I_ gotta take a day off once in a while. Or you still not doin’ nothin’ outside school?”

The runner with the sweatband bubbled out with laughter. “You give up the team, you give up our trainin’ spot, and now you’re even giving up running?”

Ryuji growled. “It ain’t like that at all, Takeishi!”

The brown-haired one growled. “We don’t even have a locker room, thanks to you!”

Akira found himself between Ryuji and the other student, feet apart and fists low but still ready. “You idiots think Kamoshida would’ve let you keep your precious team as long as you had a shot at outdoing his volleyball teams?”

Brown Hair looked over the transfer student, though his confident stance flagged. “What’s _your_ problem?”

Takeishi came stepped closer. “He’s that transfer student.” He glanced between the two still in academic uniforms.

“Tch,” Brown Hair sneered.

Ryuji tugged at the transfer student’s jacket sleeve to keep him back. “Don’t mind Nakaoka.”

After a brief breath to calm himself, Nakaoka took a deep step back. “What are you doing, hanging around this loser? You got all of Tokyo and you hang out with this club-destroying delinquent?”

Akira surged out of Ryuji’s fingertip-grip, coming nose-to-nose with the brown-haired goon. “What’d _you_ do to help your team? Stand back and say nothing as he abused you? Look away like a coward when he broke your best runner’s leg?”

Nakaoka shuffled back a little further, his eyes dropping. “You don’t know nothing, Transfer. But if you’re really any better, you’d better find other people to hang out with. He may fake it, but he’ll hit you the minute you piss him off. Just how it is. Bad father, bad son.”

The track star growled, but Akira’s vision hazed red and Nakaoka was on his back before anyone realized what happened.

Ryuji grabbed and held Akira back.

Takeishi helped his fellow runner up and they both took some distance. “Looks like they’re two of a kind after all. Makes sense delinquents would hang out with delinquents.”

Standing straight, Nakaoka seemed emboldened by his fellow runner, jerking his arm out of the other’s hand when Takeshi tried to pull him back. “No, I’m gonna make him understand.” He turned his burning gaze on Akira. “You think any of that was _easy_? _Nobody_ stood up for us. _All_ the rest of us took it for the sake of the team.” He turned to Ryuji. “_You_ were the one who fucked that up!” That out, the runner deflated and took a step away. “I was stupid for ever thinking you’d have my back through it all.”

They took off, back along the perimeter, and Ryuji came up to Akira. “Sorry, man. I was right there to try an’ help _you_ keep your cool, but when he said that ‘bout my dad the only thing that stopped me from sockin’ him was you throwin’ him down first.” He let out a beleaguered breath. “I thought I was gettin’ better after all these months, but it looks like I’m still on square one.”

Akira shrugged to settle his school jacket on his shoulders. “Hey, fuck him and fuck that. I may not have met your old bastard, but you actually give a shit about other people. Whatever your old bastard was, _you__’__re_ a good person.” He looked down and kicked at the dirt. “You just have as much problem as me holdin’ back when someone’s being a dumbass.”

Ryuji let a wan smile slip across his face. “You’re right, dude. We’re who we are here an’ now. C’mon, let’s blow off some steam at Gun About.”

Saturday, 28 May 2016  
Evening  
Shibuya, Scarlet Media Rental

The transfer student trotted up to the clerk’s counter and set down a couple CDs. The bubbly girl behind the counter gave a smile. He tried not to notice how her bot haircut made her head look like a sphere. “Thank you, valued customer. Did you notice we have a new foreign series in?” She pointed to a stand with MacGuyver.

Akira squinted. “Hey, I know that guy.” He picked up the DVD case and read the back, then set it on the stand again. “Nah. There’s no way Anderson could be anything but a colonel.” After paying for the documentaries on the history he’d need to write a report on, Alliance Force Assemble sang out of his phone.

Stepping outside and then to the side so people could ignore him and pass, he saw _Big Man_ on the ID. “Neil Efare’s funhouse. Come for the mirrors, stay because you can’t find the way out.”

A snort of amusement confirmed Iwai’s identity before the surplus store owner spoke. “I got a job. You got some time to run an errand in Shibuya?”

Akira looked around at the churning mass of people and the air coming into his lungs felt thinner. He didn’t want to say no to somebody helping him with modifications to a replica so realistic it was nigh illegal, but also didn’t fancy sticking around. “W-where?”

“I’ve got a meet with a guy at a diner. I need someone ‘round. As a security measure,” he added, nonchalant as pointing out a shaped cloud in the sky. “All you gotta do is keep an ear out and call my phone when I cough.”

Indoors was good. “I’ll be waiting. You already got a table reserved?”

Iwai grunted. “That diner doesn’t reserve tables. It’s just public enough that most people won’t pay attention to you, and private enough to have a convo on the down-low. There’s usually a small table open by the corner next to the server entrance to the kitchens.”

“I’ll be nearby,” Akira said. “But I don’t exactly have the stuff to bug the table.”

Iwai snorted. “_You__’__re_ my bug, kid. Just listen and call my cell when I give the signal.”

Akira dashed to the other side of the street, straining to hear the airsoft store owner over the crowd as he went. “You want me to record, in case he’s the type who’s not so good at remembering what he promised?”

“No!” Iwai snapped. “I mean… he and I share some unsavory connections. I’m tryin’ to get _out_ of the spider’s web, not deeper in.”

“Got it,” Akira said, ending the call and charting a course to the diner through the unruly mass of humanity rushing this way and that. He looked down to the satchel hanging from his shoulder and the team leader hiding within. “You wanna come along?”

One of Morgana’s ears folded back and his blue eyes narrowed for a moment. “I’d rather focus on trying to tie up the Shibuya yakuza. I know we’ve got the Palace for its leader, but if we can add any important members of its leadership to the targets we take care of in Mementos, we can ensure they don’t just reorganize.”

Akira shrugged. “Good luck. Meet you at Leblanc at eight?”

Morgana stood, nodded, and hopped out into the crowd.

Akira pushed his way through the crowd and up to the diner. He spotted the table for two in question at the far side of the dining area, just past the soda fountain. The closest seat nearby was a booth, so he sat down and spread out some books to look like he had business being there. After a few minutes, a cute waitress with her ponytail in a red bow came to take his order.

A few minutes later, Iwai slipped through the crowd, his pace steady but his eyes sweeping over everything with a subtlety the transfer student forgot adults were capable of. Without even making eye contact, the surplus store owner sat down at the far chair.

A lanky man with slicked-back hair and a leopard-print shirt sat down in the seat next to him, his back facing the transfer student. Akira felt his hair stand up when Masa spoke. “I wouldn’a thought a tough guy like you would go for a dumpy joint full of kids and old farts. Long way from Mune the Stomper.” Masa shook his head.

Iwai let out a chuff, pulling the brim of his cap lower and glancing at the servers ducking into the nearby kitchen entrance. “Hey, sometimes reputations get a little longer in the retelling. I just wanted ta check on some of the old boys. How’s Tsuda-san?”

Masa leaned back in his chair. “Same old.” He tilted his head and from the shift in Iwai’s posture, must’ve given a hell of a scrutinizing look. “You ain’t been around for years, an’ you know they never really left a spot for me. ‘Thought you left the family. Why the sudden interest?”

Iwai tapped the brim of his cap, slouching back in his chair to try to hide the stiffness in his shoulders. Akira could still see the tension in his neck. “Just saw him around the other day. Made me think about old times.” The shop owner straightened. “And I figured it was past time to bury the hatchet. But I haven’t been in the family in years, I can’t just walk up to him.”

Masa snorted, then broke out into a nasally laugh. “You _still_ on about the ol’ code? I guess some things don’t change.”

“So you an’ he still in the same circles or not?”

A plate broke in the kitchen and the two adults froze before the hubbub returned.

“I’d hafta do some reconnectin’. New boss, and all.” Masa twirled a toothpick between his fingertips. “Want me to set up a meet?”

Iwai sat up straight in his seat. “No, idiot. I just need to talk. We only need to end up in the same place at the same time. This has gotta go down like a coincidence.”

Masa nodded. “Shibaura’s gettin’ a lot of attention lately.”

Iwai quirked an eyebrow. “That run-down dumping ground?”

“First rule of real estate is everything is for sale at the right price,” Masa said, slouching against the wall. The transfer student could just catch a smirk. “Talk is there’s gonna be redevelopment. Tsuda’s been down there on the regular.”

Iwai hacked into his fist. He strained, like listening for something in the crowd, but instead of reaching for his glass he coughed again.

Akira slid his recording app out of the way and brought up the surplus store owner’s number.

Masa scooted back a little and took his coffee from the table. “You sick or somethin’?”

“Just a cold.” Iwai snatched his ringing phone from his coat pocket. “What? Polystyrene instead of canvas?”

Akira quirked an eyebrow.

Iwai feigned listening. “No, no, sir. I’ll have it fixed right away.” He covered the microphone and looked at the gangster in a leopard-print shirt. “Work. Later.”

Masa gave a lazy wave. “Seeya.” He lifted his mug and sipped his hot coffee.

Iwai dropped a yen note on the table and dashed, but from the sound stopped at the stairs. “Stay on the line. If I know Masa, he’s an opportunist. I need to know what he says when he calls out.”

Akira filled in _Hashiba Hideyoshi_ on his history homework and gave an “Mm-hm.”

Sure enough, just seconds later, Masa lost patience and pulled out his smart phone. “Tsuda-san. It’s Masa.”

A moment passed, but Akira couldn’t hear the other side over the clinking and work in the kitchen.

Masa set his coffee on the table. “Iwai was just askin’ ‘bout you. I gave him the runaround like you said.” He paused and Akira wished he could hear over the sizzle and clatter of cooking staff. “My guess is he heard about your big score and wants a cut.”

Iwai’s voice faded in over the sound of background noise on Akira’s phone. “Big score? I wonder what’s up.”

Masa nodded. “Yeah, don’t worry.” He hung up, took another sip of coffee, then brought up his phone’s contacts. “I don’t got time to screw around with those pissants. I got _real_ prospects.” He tapped on one of his contacts. “Hey, Senda. You ready to put a little fear of god in the doc?”

Akira clicked his pen closed, hoping he wasn’t hearing a reference to what he thought. It was too early. He slipped his homework into his school satchel.

Masa nodded. “Right. Same place as usual.” He took another sip of his coffee, head tilted against his phone. “Don’t worry about that, I’ll get you a piece. A guy I know just made a sale and still has a whole case of spare guns.” He ended the call, gulped the rest of his coffee, then stood up and headed for the entrance.

Iwai asked, “What’s he talkin’ about?”

Shoving the rest of his school materials into his school bag, Akira cut the call, hopped to his feet, dropped a yen note to pay for his kale kobachi, and dashed for the front before Masa could disappear. Concerned Iwai would try to call back, Akira put his phone on In Meeting mode, then stopped the recorder. He got to the stairs just in time to see Masa close some app and slip his phone into his pocket.

Before they got down to the street, Akira’s phone buzzed. Takemi’s ID blinked up at him, call waiting to connect. He canceled the call, then brought her up on his chat app.

She wasted no time to send, [He's called early. I don't have nearly enough to placate him!]

A notification about an incoming call from Iwai appeared, and he swiped it out of the way, then sent to Takemi, [I'm on him, just stay calm and do what you can for now.]

[I've barely got enough to rattle in a case!]

Akira clenched his teeth. [Then bring that, just get moving!]

Looking up, he dashed through the crowd to keep track of Masa until he turned to the less used side streets. The roads seemed longer than when he wandered through them to stumble across Takemi’s drug drop point the first time. At least the majority of the lights were burned out, leaving him plenty of darkness to creep through. It reminded him of following Morgana across storage shelves in the castle’s larder to evade the knights.

Masa took position in the dark just outside a cone of light at the back entrance of an appliance repair store. He lit a cigarette and smoked halfway down before another young man in a dirty yellow shirt with torn sleeves approached. Masa nodded to him and continued smoking, finishing the first and starting on a second cigarette before a clinking of small, hard objects shifting in a plastic container echoed in the alley.

Masa flicked the cigarette away and pulled a pistol tucked against his waistband, then handed it to the flunky.

The new guy turned it over in his hands for a second. “Is this fake, or empty?”

“Shh!” Masa gestured both hands down and leaned closer. “It’ll look and sound just like the real thing.”

“You said you’d get me a piece for this! Or ain’t that Tsuda as hot as you say?”

Masa growled. “Listen, shit-stain. He keeps real tight grip of his product. This is the best I could get without forking over a fuckload of cash the boss is constantly swipin’ from my pockets.” He jerked his head at a shadowed loading dock. The other thug clambered up and took position in the darkest corner on the concrete platform. Akira took to a dark doorway a few meters down.

Doctor Takemi paced into the alley. The dark green of her dress and black on her leather jacket and ragged leggings made her look like she belonged in here more than the dork in the leopard print shirt. She kept her back straight, but her fist held her plastic medicine case with white knuckles.

Masa ground his cigarette beneath his shoe before looking her in the eyes. A smirk slipped over his face and she retreated a shallow step. “I give you a chance for a sale, and that’s all you bring?”

Takemi swallowed, her brows furrowing. “You called early. I’m not a miracle worker, a lot of the medication you… want only comes at the beginning of the month.”

Masa’s smirk widened. “Wrong answer, doc.”

The ganger’s flunky jumped down from the darkness of the loading dock, landing less than a pace from the doctor.

Dropping the case, she scrambled back.

Masa approached, his smirk expanding into a shit-eating grin before his flunky spotted the red dot come to a stop on Masa’s chest. “Shit!” The new guy fell to his ass in his haste to scramble away, his gun replica falling to the ground. “She hired a merc!” He scrambled on all fours before sprinting away.

Masa snarled at him, but looked across the dark alley until his eyes zeroed in on Akira, little but the fake silencer protruding out of deep shadows. The gangster froze, his eyes going wide and his breath halting when he locked onto the red dot projector.

Takemi straightened and took a beat to steady her breathing. “Now unless you want my guy to pay you a midnight visit, here’s how it’s going to go from now on. If I want to hear you again, _I__’__ll_ call _you_.” She jerked her chin away.

Face contorting in rage, Masa clenched both fists but trembled where he stood. “Don’t think the boss is gonna let this go for long.” He turned and fled the same direction his lackey did.

It seemed a full minute passed in as close to silence as a back alley of Shibuya could get before Takemi collapsed to her knees, hands catching the broken asphalt. She sucked in ragged breaths and tears drew trails down her face.

Akira turned off his laser dot projector and folded his sub-machine gun, retrieving his satchel so he could stow his weapon. His phone vibrated, but when he saw Big Man on the ID he denied the call and slipped it back in his pocket. After slipping his gloves on, Akira snagged the very real-looking pistol, tossed it in his schoolbag, and retrieved her medicine case. That out of the way, he knelt down next to the doctor. “Hey, it’s over. They’re gone.”

“It’s not over!” she snapped at him over the traffic helicopter passing overhead.

Ignoring her shout, he reached out a hand to help her to her feet. “Let’s get back to Yongen-Jaya for now. We’ll worry about the rest later.”

She glared at him, so he straightened his satchel, grabbed her arm, and walked her to the main streets. She pulled a tissue to wipe at her face, but stayed just a pace behind as they proceeded to the train station and to the back streets of Yongen. When she kept going straight at the road heading down to her clinic, he cleared his throat. Takemi’s glare fell on him again, but by this point she looked confused and tired instead of angry.

He waved her closer. “You need a break. I’ll make you a cup.” Despite the sign still saying _Open_, the lights were off and the door locked. Akira pulled out his keys and unlocked it, turned the sign, then flipped the lights and started heating up some water.

Takemi slid onto a seat next to the books near the yellow phone, slumping to the polished wood countertop. “We may have made it out of that one this time, but he’s going to try again.”

Akira finished her mug and set it on the counter in front of her. “Maybe, but he’ll need his boss’s backing and he won’t have that for long.”

Takemi stared into him, and for a moment he feared she was going to snap before her head dipped. She caught herself and reached for the mug, but grimaced after only a quick sip. “You made me decaf? Philistine.” She took another sip anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thanks to all the comments, they help a lot whether it's helping gauge interest or providing constructive criticism. This is a big project and all of you who've stopped to provide your opinions give a lot back.


	41. May 28th, Mistaken Impression

Persona 5: Daywatch

Saturday, 28 May 2016  
Late Night  
Yongen, Leblanc Loft

Akira hit the floor. A jolt of panic seized through him at the darkness and feeling of every limb being restrained, memories of buckles and straps and the sharp pinpricks across his scalp of the EEG reader. He pulled in a deep breath. This was just a sheet. He extricated himself, noting a strange absence once there was nothing wrapped around him.

Morgana shook his head, but stayed on the circular cushion on the lower book shelf. “More nightmares about Kamoshida? You were calling for Shiho.”

Heat blazed on Akira’s face. Part from the dream Shiho playing hide-and-seek with him across Tokyo, and part in shame that he was still thinking about another man’s girlfriend. Shiho made her decision before she ever met him. All that besides a whole Biblical commandment about not coveting his neighbor’s wife.

Morgana sat up, the white tip of his tail flicking in and out of his blurred visibility in the dark. “We changed his heart. Don’t worry, Kaneshiro’s will change too.”

Akira sat on the bed. One spring popped underneath him. He stretched his arms just to give his body something to do. “Sure sounds an awful lot like hoping. Which is what people do when they can’t _do_.”

Morgana hopped up on the bed next to him, making it harder to avoid seeing the narrow searching quality of his eyes. “Don’t say things like that. Didn’t Lady Ann say Kamoshida stopped coming to school? We haven’t even finished Kaneshiro, but as long as we follow the same procedure I’m _sure_ we’ll succeed and he’ll change just like Kamoshida. We just won’t be as close to this target to get those smaller signals before the big change.”

Akira rubbed his face. Despite the racing of his heart from his dream, he felt chilled. “A few days break hardly made up for extorting her for sex.” He rubbed his arms. “Do you think that’s any different than tricking someone into it?”

The image of another night’s dream Ann in lingerie flashed in his mind before the memory of the real one locked to Kamoshida’s bed post. He shivered. A little voice in his mind questioned how different he could be from that monster if he desired the same things.

Akira shook his head to drive out the image. The familiarity of Kaneshiro’s laser-focused practicality just took its place. “I just need to apply myself to something else.” He got out of bed and unrolled the exercise mat for push-ups. When he got tired enough, sleep would come for him.

Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ Sunday, 29 May 2016  
Afternoon  
Kanda Catholic Church

Hifumi slid her knight onto his gold general’s space, switching the tiles with swift precision. “My Lothlorien rangers ambush your battle droids.”

Not to be outdone, Akira picked up his lancer. “Well _my_ army deploys its landspeeder, chasing down your ranger.”

Hifumi giggled. “You have left your commander open!” Her tile made a snap as she set it down where his rook was. “Check.”

The approach of something large and black from his side kicked up the transfer student’s fight response before Father Sugiyama spoke, leaning in. “Nothing warms my heart more than the youth in the flame of life, but we _do_ have a few other parishioners in prayer for the members of our community this day of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ.”

Hifumi covered her mouth, her entire face turning red. She spoke more in a squeak than a whisper, “I am so sorry!”

Father Sugiyama gave a thin smile. “Nobody’s been harmed, Daughter… Son,” he nodded to both, then strode back to the confessional booth for the white-haired woman trudging up to it.

Scrutinizing the board, Akira let out a sigh. “I’ve got five different routes I could go, but you’d have me back in check in three turns at most. Do you have the time to go somewhere else?”

Hifumi checked her phone, then her shoulders sank. She tapped away, then waited. Piano notes emanated from her phone and a frown marred her visage. She looked up, but didn’t quite meet his eyes. “I’m sorry, but mother’s insisting I meet her. She’s scheduled an interview, and I need to be in time for the wardrobe and photographers.”

At the cringe in her eyes, Akira opened his mouth to tell her to blow it off like he would, but damn near _everybody_ he’d met treated that like an insult.

The shogi master looked down at her phone. “I… have to go now.” She paused to smooth out her dress. “But if I have an opening some evening during the week…?”

Akira flashed her a confident smile. “Like I said the first time. Anywhere, any time.”

They exchanged contact information and she departed with a less hunched posture, the past minute sinking in. He stared at his phone for long seconds. He had Hifumi’s number. Hifumi _gave_ him her number.

Before Akira could decide what to do, his phone sang with the string instruments of the Goa’uld theme.

He bowed to the parishioner giving him the stink eye in the pew behind. “Excuse me.” Once outside, he opened the call bearing the ID _President Niijima_. “Russian delivery service, Pikup Andropov here.”

Niijima made a grunt of consternation, but shoved that aside. “I’ve been thinking a lot since our first break into Kaneshiro’s Palace.” She paused, and while he couldn’t see her or articulate what he was hearing, he sensed nervous fidgeting. “A lot of the things that happened wouldn’t have happened if I was better at understanding the student body. I… I need help prognosticating. You said you were busy attending to equipment upgrades on Saturday and you’d have time Sunday?”

A joke danced on the tip of Akira’s tongue, but his old bastard rarely hesitated to make him feel like a fool when he didn’t know something. If his games with Hifumi confirmed anything, it was that learning something new should be a good experience, not a chance to humiliate. He leaned against the side of the old Catholic church. “I’m still in Chiyoda right now. Did you need to meet somewhere?”

“I’m at Shujin right now, but I can meet you at Shibuya Station in ten minutes.”

“It will take at least twenty minutes to get to Shibuya,” Akira said. “I’ll text you.”

Autopilot almost took him back to Leblanc, but he ended up in front of the blended drink kiosk _Vegetarian_, still in his Sunday finest.

Never having seen her out of the Shujin uniform, he wasn’t sure what he expected from Makoto. The loose and practical white poet blouse and simple black leggings wasn’t it. It was… so casual. When she locked eyes with him, she came to a standstill. Her eyes swept up and down and a hint of pink bloomed on her cheeks. “You clea—I mean… you dress sharp.”

Akira tugged his dress jacket straight. “That’s kind of the point of having a Sunday best to wear to Mass.”

“Mass?”

“It’s what they call the organized gatherings for Catholics.” Akira slipped his hands in his pockets. “I converted last December, so most of it is still new to me.”

Nodding, Makoto coughed into her fist, then straightened. “I feel like I’ve been coasting through all the expectations others had of me for my entire life. When Kiriko-san left, there was nobody to even challenge me for president of the student council.”

Akira squinted at a rise in volume from a clump of boisterous kids coming up from the subways. He gestured to the stairs up and she kept pace beside. “You ever play the tuba? You’re pretty good at blowing your own horn.”

She glared and took another gulp from her red, pulpy drink, then pitched the plastic cup and straw into a trash can. “I’m not trying to boast, just frame how I always thought of things.” Her pace slowed and her crimson eyes fell to the floor. “I did nothing for Kiriko, for Suzui, or Kamoshida. I was so concerned with following the rules, I wasn’t there for people suffering the rule breakers.” She shielded her eyes from the sun as they stepped into Shibuya’s central street. “Sometimes it feels like there’s a gulf wider than the Akaishi Mountains between myself and my peers.”

Shrugging, Akira kept a steady pace out of the crammed market lane towards Station Square. “I don’t think you’re _that_ bad, Senpai. Though you can’t gain street smarts if you’re never in the streets.”

Makoto nodded, the muscles at the corners of her eyes tense. “I realized that as I was trying to list the things I knew about the student body. I don’t even know where most people go for fun.”

Akira paused to look at her. The upper-classman seemed weary, like someone with far too many years pressing down on her shoulders. It reminded him of the cringe Hifumi had when she tried to excuse her duty to her family. “Maybe you’re overthinking it. What do _you_ do for fun?”

Makoto blinked with surprise, but the hunch of her shoulders remained. “I spend most of my time studying to stay at the top of the grade.” Her eyes gazed into the empty distance for a moment. “But Papa and I used to watch crime dramas.”

Grinning, he poked her in the arm. “See, there’s something. I used to sneak into theaters when I was in middle school, too. Sci-fi, comedy, it hardly mattered what the movie was. Getting in was the main challenge.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “Not sneaking in. Papa would buy tickets and the movie would be the main event. He didn’t even get popcorn so we could focus on the screen. When Kiriko-san was still talking, she mentioned a whole variety of snacks she’d buy when she’d watch movies with her friends.” She hugged her arms around herself. “Thinking about it just makes me realize how much better a student council president she would have been. The student council is responsible for understanding the student body they serve, right?”

Akira snorted as they entered Station Square. “Or grifting as far as their limited power allows them. Secretary at Inuri bought herself a gaming laptop.”

A man in a grey suit and white gloves gave the kind of laughs adults made before chiding a child. “Now, now. While there are those who abuse power, the ideal of what politicians are for must remain foremost or not only will we fail to live up to those ideals when it’s our turn, but we’ll fail to hold accountable those who skirt their duties.”

Smiling at the reinforcement, Makoto bowed to the man. “Thank you, Toranosuke-san.” She led him to a bench next to the statue of Hachikou. “So what else?”

Akira took off his glasses to clean the lenses. “Well, we had movies. There’s themed cafes I hear groups go to. Karaoke if you’re trying to show off.” He re-settled his glasses and looked her in the eye. “There’s athletics or sports.” He grinned. “Or if you’re _really_ gutsy, hat-snatching. Me and the guys at Inuri used to do that all the time before Officer Ichijou arrived.”

Makoto gave a long-suffering sigh. “I’m trying to reach out to those below my station, Akira. Not throw it out altogether. I know well enough I can’t just read my way into understanding people.” She took a deep breath. “To tell the truth, I don’t understand where to start. You managed to find Kaneshiro, even though you didn’t grow up here. How did you manage that?”

Akira scratched the back of his neck. “Well, I stumbled across a deal with one of Kaneshiro’s flunkies and the doc we brought Ryuji to. She’s one of those people we’re trying to help, and she stands to lose a lot more than just reputation if we can’t change Kaneshiro’s heart in time.” He crossed his arms. “Though the last break was a journalist at a bar in Shinjuku’s red-light district.”

Makoto’s eyes grew wide as dinner plates. “Y… you met someone in a bar in the red-light district?”

“Uh, yeah? It’s not like _I_ drank.” He held up a hand as if to hold off an invisible offer. “I already tried that disgusting stuff once. _No_ thank you.”

Makoto’s eyes went wide as saucers. “You’ve _drank alcohol_? That’s not legal until you’re _twenty_!”

Akira gave her a swift elbow and looked up. The few pedestrians who gave him disdainful looks kept walking. “It’s not technically legal to smoke some green, either. But as much as I’d like another joint, I think _you_ need one more.”

A blaze in her eyes, Makoto shot to her feet. She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it, then closed it a final time before she stormed into the crowd.

Even though Morgana wasn’t there with him, Akira could imagine the small team leader reproaching him. “Well if she didn’t want to know, she shouldn’t ask,” he snapped. Sometimes talking to her was like arguing with himself. He stood, straightened his dress shirt, then headed for the trains back to Yongen.

Sunday, 29 May 2016  
Evening  
Shibuya, Underground Mall

The tides of humanity swirled around him like the push and pull of ocean currents in the midst of a typhoon. Dozens of conversations battered his ears, the smells of perfumes and body odor his nose. Hopping up on his tip-toes, he looked out over the flashing displays and tides of dark-haired people until he spotted a pair of blonde pigtails. He waved even before he was sure who it was, his desperation to meet up and get out growing. “Hey, Ann!”

She stepped out from the crowd, a relieved grin spreading over her face. She typed something into her phone with the rapid speed of practice, then slipped it into her jacket pocket and stepped closer to let the crowds flow around them. “You seem to be handling the crowds better.”

Akira leaned back against the tiled wall between Trillion and 37C. With his back no longer exposed, he felt like his lungs could take in a full breath at last. Being in his street casual clothes helped a little. “It’s gotten easier to get around since Ryuji introduced me to crowd running. Now that I can think of it like parkour, just with people as moving obstacles, it’s way easier to get around.” He picked off a fleck of lint from his school jacket. “So why’d you want to meet without Morgana?”

She fidgeted, reaching her hand into the pocket with her phone without pulling it out. Her eyes dropped, rose to the ceiling, then looked away again. “I… I wanted to talk about a few things. Mom and dad’s going to be back home for a while in two weeks, and I feel kind of overwhelmed trying to figure out how to catch them up on everything that’s happened.” She brushed one of her pigtails back off her shoulder.

He nodded. “About Shujin after numbnuts? Or Shiho?”

“All of it,” she said. She made a quarter turn away, but didn’t step off. Her eyes scanned the shoe-worn tile and her left hand reached up to twirl the tip of her pigtail. “Well, I guess life at Shujin’s more like how I’ve been saying it was all along, but I was lying before.”

Akira shrugged, standing up from the wall a bit when he felt a brick scrape his shoulder. “Were you wanting to talk to them about how Shujin was before?”

Her finger pulled on more hair. “No. Well, maybe. I mean, I’d kind of prefer to act like it never happened, but… I spent months fighting him off. Coming up with excuses for either myself, Shiho, or Yuuki. Some days I spent more time trying to think up ways to talk that bastard out of something than I did studying. I guess I kind of want to know that I didn’t waste all that time hiding from Kamoshida and not talking to anyone.”

He gave another shrug. “Eh, people are overrated. I bribed and connived to get mother to take me away for _years_ before she put me up at her rental place for a series of galas at the Ichijou’s. Couldn’t even leave me there after the year ended. When the parties moved, she left too and Murakami High wouldn’t let me apply without a guardian there.” He held out his hands. “Didn’t matter that I’d been taking care of myself for years.” He shrugged and relaxed against the wall again. “On the other hand, the only thing to that school’s name was one of its students went crazy and killed a teacher at the other high school, so it might not have been any better than Inuri. How’s Shiho doing, anyway?”

Crossing her arms, Ann squinted and looked away. “She’s struggling through physical therapy. She’s kind of scared me a few times because of how…_angry_ she’s been. At the same time, I don’t want to shut that down because sometimes that’s the only thing that gets her through.”

Akira scratched his chin, the image of spittle flying from her lips leaping to mind. “What about Mishima?”

“I didn’t mean to!” Ann bellowed, bringing a handful of other pedestrians to a standstill. Her cheeks burned with pink. She crossed her arms and shifted her weight from foot to foot, glancing at the people streaming by beside her.

When several seconds passed with only the unceasing sounds of the crowds bearing down on them, he reached out to tap her forearm so she’d look at him again. “Okay, I know _something_ is going on, but this clearly isn’t the place to talk about it. You want more people so no one stops to listen in, or nobody around to listen in?”

She shifted her weight back and forth for a few moments, the faint tinge to her face growing into a more pronounced blush before she said, “Sorry. I thought I could get it over with if I asked you here, but… I want this to be between you and me.”

He nodded. “I know a place.”

Shibuya, Alley in front of Untouchable

Stepping around an unfamiliar bike, both tires flat and a u-lock trapping its rear wheel, nothing stood out in the relative tranquility. While the unceasing city noise pressed in, this tiny pocket held as little hustle as the teens would ever find. Akira took off his glasses to wipe the lenses, then set them back and looked her in the eye. “So where were we? Mishima?”

The red on her face deepened and she looked away. After a deep breath, Ann leaned back against the wall, though her shoulders hunched in like she wanted to vanish. “I didn’t mean to kiss him.”

His body nodded, but his mind’s train of thought derailed, skipped off the bridge, and tumbled down the mountainside before exploding in a brilliant fireball at the bottom of the metaphorical valley below. “What?”

Ann jerked up from her slouch, her eyes glistening. “The day after we got into Kaneshiro’s Palace… we were just talking. Yuuki seemed so sad. He’s always been so sweet and supportive, and when I saw how hard he’s been working for us, for everything…”

She clutched her hands into fists. “We were already sitting right next to each other.” Her hands drifted like she hoped to snag an invisible answer out of the air. “It was always okay being around him before. He was one of the few good guys at Shujin, with that outward calm and inner strength that even won Shiho. I just leaned closer to try… I think just say he should stop blaming himself, but he did the same thing and when his lips touched mine…” She twirled a finger through the tip of one of her pigtails hard enough he feared she’d pull it out. “I didn’t even realize what happened until we broke apart for air.” A tear slipped out one eye and she looked like she wanted to race out into the street.

Adjusting his glasses, Akira tried to think but found his train of thought still burning in the valley floor. “Uh… you like him and Mishima likes you. I don’t see the problem.” Shiho dumped him at the hospital, didn’t she?

Ann’s eyes blazed with energy as intense as a blizzard trying to batter through the window. The tears brimming only made her look more dangerous. “You don’t understand. He’s _Shiho’s_ soul mate! They’re like…the only perfect couple in existence!” She clamped her hands on his sleeves. “How could I _do_ that to her?” Tears slipped out both sides of both eyes. “She’s my _best friend_. She’s laid up in the hospital and I made out with her boyfriend!”

Akira pulled his hands back, feeling heat on his face as he looked down the alley. “To tell the truth, I haven’t been able to get Shiho out of my mind since that first day.” Ann sniffed, but waited for him to continue. “When she looked up from that text and smiled… I’d never seen anyone look like that before. Never knew that I wanted it so badly.” He couldn’t figure out how to say he couldn’t see Shiho like that anymore.

“But _you_ didn’t trick her into cheating on Yuuki!” Ann paced down the alley for just four steps before reversing and pacing back to him. Her hands curled into fists so tight her knuckles paled. “Do you know what the first thing Shiho said to me at the hospital when she woke up? ‘I’m sorry.’ She was sorry for not telling me about Kamoshida, about all the things he was doing to the team.” She paused to sniff, which didn’t do much to help her catch her breath. “I’m worse than Kamoshi—”

Akira grabbed her by both sides of the head and forced her to look him straight in the eye. “Don’t you _dare_ say that. _Kamoshida_ did what _he_ did. Blaming yourself for everything isn’t going to fix shit. You can’t undo what was done by treating yourself like you’re responsible for it. Even if you made _one_ mistake, it’s nowhere near the level of him.” He lowered his hands as she brushed at her pigtails. “As for Yuuki… Sounded to me like Shiho brushed him off. And _you_ talk about him almost every time we meet. You like him. I don’t see how that’s some bad thing. As far as I can figure, what you and Yuuki are is what you and he decide to be.” He raised his hands. “I don’t think anyone else can decide that for you.”

Crossing her arms, Ann stared at the ground, but she didn’t look like she wanted to run into traffic anymore. “I don’t know how you can look at everything like it was so simple.” Her mouth twisted into a partial forced smile. “But thanks. After we finish Kaneshiro, I think I’ll talk to him.”

Akira came to a stop next to her and leaned to shoulder-bump her. “I know I’m not the best person to say this, but Big K told me once…don’t wait too long. You’ll never know when you might lose an opportunity. I never knew how true that was until that drunk asshole.”


	42. May 30th, Sub-Level

Persona 5: Daywatch

Monday, 30 May 2016  
After School  
Kaneshiro’s Bank

The steady, carpet-softened footfalls of the Shadow guard faded around the corner. Akira let out a breath and followed Morgana’s dash to the hallway intersection. Muted tones of beige and pale green stretched all three directions. The team leader leaned around the corner, peered for a moment, then dashed across the intersection and nodded.

Akira burst into a sprint at the Shadow, by now almost five meters into the hall bisecting the bank’s basement floor. The distance closed, but two meters away it stood straight, its head turning.

Akira leaped, left hand reaching for its faceplate—

The guard smacked Akira with its baton, knocking him breathless to the wall where he collapsed like a sack of potatoes.

“Joker!” Makoto cried before her face twisted in rage and she leaned forward, her motorbike of fire forming from underneath her. Too late to stop the Shadow from distending, its surface turning black, then bursting like a bloody pustule.

Where it stood floated a half-meter-tall humanoid wearing a glistening breastplate, translucent wings jutting from its back. Two red-furred creatures flanked it, their heads and legs like those of a horse.

Makoto revved the engine and surged forward, flames gushed from vents on the front as she crashed into the whinnying horse demon on the right.

The other Orobas charged Akira, still struggling to his feet with the help of the wall. Its hooved feet stamped, lips peeled back to bare crooked, yellowed teeth. It raised a fist, but a spiked whip lashed around the limb, a rime of frost spreading from the contact.

Ann snarled, “Get away from my friend.”

Carmen flicked her whip, a snow-flurry rushing from her hand down its length into the demon.

Zorro’s eyes blazed as it psychokinetically picked up the ice-encrusted Orobas before a pulse of concussive wind slammed into the group, throwing the burly Persona into the wall. Morgana tumbled to the floor.

High Pixie swung an arm like a dismissive wave. Cutting winds swirled around Makoto, scattering flames and drawing a cry of pain before her Persona vanished in a puff of fire.

“Andras!” Akira shouted. The muscled form of a man with an owl for his head appeared in a blip of light, swinging both wings and releasing bolts of ice from each. The magic struck Makoto’s equine enemy, knocking it stumbling.

With Carmen already evading the other Orobas, Zorro flitted through the hall, impaling the horse demon down to the hilt until the Shadow collapsed into dissolving black goo.

The remaining Orobas leaped, slamming a fist into Andras and driving the owl-headed figure back. A burst of slicing winds followed up the slam, and Akira fell back against the wall, coughing.

Zorro swung its rapier at High Pixie, but the armored fairy fluttered up, raised a single hand, and snapped its fingers at the black-clad Persona. Zorro and Morgana both came to a stop, eyes closed. The Persona’s head nodded down and catboy snored.

A thorned whip lashed through the hall at High Pixie, but it dodged to one side, then another before it swatted a hand at Carmen despite the meters between them. A wind burst slammed Carmen into the wall.

Blood still dribbling down his face, Akira whipped up his sub-machine gun and fired a burst at the remaining Orobas. “Byakko, wake up!” He fired again as the horse demon left a crumpled Makoto to stamp the dancer Persona.

Morgana snoozed, steadier on his feet than right for a sleeping person.

Makoto gunned down the wide hall, flames sputtering from her Persona as she fled the center of the continuing storm of cutting winds. No wonder that skeleton riding that freakish horse slowed down so much when Ryuji awakened in Kamoshida’s castle.

Orobas danced out of the way, delivering a vicious back kick as she passed by, sending Makoto tumbling, her Persona vanishing in a puff of flames.

Akira growled and tried to line up a shot at the armored fairy, but the still-expanding wind stung his eyes.

High Pixie swatted its other hand at Ann, a hurricane gale smashing Carmen into the wall and knocking the girl herself off her feet.

“Panther!” Akira shouted.

Makoto leaped, her Persona forming underneath her moments before crashing against the nimble horse demon and plowing straight over it with Johanna’s flame wheels. She locked eyes with High Pixie and gunned the engine.

The fairy snapped its fingers.

Johana went silent, its flames fading and Makoto slumping on her Persona.

Orobas leaped at Carmen, kicking her into the wall and drawing a pained shriek from Ann.

Eyes full of tears and still stinging from the tearing winds, Akira roared and reached down inside for something – anything – to protect them. Anything stronger than himself. Hifumi’s cackling bubbled up in his mind, the unashamed joy of clashing against all competition.

“Ananta Shesha! Mafrei!” tore from his throat.

Andras vanished into a cloud of silvery motes of light which re-gathered into an enormous serpent longer than a car. Akira could swear its scales showed a brilliant celestial-scape like the Eagle Nebula. It wore a shiny gold collar, with five hooded cobra heads branching out above the collar. All of which flared, though a sound like distant song emanated from its mouths.

A burst exploded from the starscape-skinned Persona, striking Orobas and High Pixie. The stinging wind storm vanished as the armored fairy collapsed and Orobas swayed on its hooved feet.

Makoto snatched up her shotgun and blasted it square in the chest, dissolving it.

Morgana shook his head, his Persona absent but his crossbow in hand as he shared a glance with Akira. The boy in the longcoat dismissed his Persona and advanced on the armored fairy.

High Pixie took in gulps of air, its legs splayed behind it and one arm holding it off the floor. It looked up at the pair of Phantom Thieves, its chin still held high. “This sucks,” it groused.

“Be glad,” Akira said, a smirk on his face. “If the world didn’t suck, we’d all fly off.”

High Pixie and Makoto both choked back laughter. The Shadow’s shoulders slouched. “You’re not just strong, you’re pretty clever. We’d make a great team.” Akira nodded and lowered his sub-machine gun. The armored fairy fluttered back up off the ground, closed its eyes, then burst into black streaks flinging into his mask. Ann caught him as he swayed, but Akira righted himself after a moment.

Morgana folded his crossbow. “That was pretty impressive, Joker. Why didn’t you tell us about that celestial serpent Persona?”

Akira shook his head to try to cast off a sense of cobwebs. “I don’t think I _had_ it until just now.”

Stowing his crossbow in the pouch slung on his back, Morgana gave a smirk so wide, Ryuji would’ve been proud. “So you’ve already started fusing Personas. She must be workin’ pretty quick. I really know how to pick ‘em.”

Makoto came to a stop next to Ann. “She?”

Morgana blinked, his ears perking straight up and eyes widening. “I remembered something!” The other Phantom Thieves waited with bated breath for several seconds before he let out a puff of air. “No, sorry. It slipped away.”

With Morgana feeling refreshed from the fight and everybody else grumbling but ready to go, the diminutive guide led them through the halls and air vents until they came to a plexiglass door in sub-level one.

Kaneshiro’s Bank, Basement Security Control Room

Akira dove into a roll underneath a wake of wind solid enough to smash a monitor on the wall next to him. At least the security control room was big enough for all of them to maneuver in, despite half a dozen Shadows waiting to counter the Phantom Thieves’ ambush with one of their own. “Agathion!”

His cavalry Persona disappeared in a burst of silvery motes of light drawing in as if sucked by a powerful gravity affecting nothing else. A green imp in a gold vase took its place. Mezuki leaped, coming down in front of the new arrival, the horse-faced demon powering its forward-curving sword through the space Agathion was in an instant earlier.

With Kin-Ki distracted trying to chop up Carmen with its double-sided sword, Akira took a risk. Instead of countering Mezuki, the captain of the group and easily the buffest monster that came out of the black mass, he directed his persona to shoot a lightning bolt into the gold-clad oni. The blast sent it into dissolving goop just before it slammed its sword into Carmen’s neck.

“Thanks!” Ann shouted, popping shots from her pistol into the remaining Sui-Ki nearby.

The purple oni threw a ball of ice at Makoto, zipping through the control room wider than Leblanc’s whole building. Thanks to Ann’s pistol fire, its aim went wide. Makoto swung her motorbike-Persona’s armored rear end around, crashing into and crumpling the Fuu-Ki before she pointed at Mezuki and lobbed a ball of fire at the horse demon wearing a green gi.

The ball struck and exploded, flames washing over it and sending it tumbling to the ground with a whinny of pain and frustration. Akira shot a burst into it with his sub-machine gun before she swing close, blasting it with her shotgun and trying to swipe it with her armored Persona.

The horse-headed monster hopped out of the way, his sword glancing across the back of Johana’s armored end.

“Orthrus!” Akira shouted, his imp-in-a-vase dissipating into motes which re-gathered into a canine the size of a warhorse. Its twin heads growled at the captain of the Shadow defenders before the muscle-bound canine leaped for the throat.

Like before, Mezuki danced out of the way. Orthrus’ left head yawned open, a bolt of fire blasting from its toothy maw.

Mezuki stumbled, backpedaling to catch its footing.

A ball of ice slammed into the horse demon wearing green, leaving it crusted in ice. Cracks started to form around its mouth and nostrils, but an instant later, Johanna smashed through it, scattering dissolving chunks of black goo to the floor.

Breathing hard, Makoto dismissed her Persona, caught her footing, and paced back to Akira. “You okay? It looks like you’re bleeding again.”

“I’m fine,” he said. He checked three pockets for his now-bloodied handkerchief. Glancing at it after dabbing below his nose, he decided it wasn’t worth stopping for. He’d had worse nose bleeds from summer allergies. “Everyone okay?”

Morgana folded up his crossbow, then pressed a hand against his back. “I think I prefer one big Shadow to a whole bunch of them.”

“The smaller ones are a lot more satisfying to run over,” Makoto said with a gleam in her eyes. She knelt down where the largest chunk of Mezuki dissolved. “Looks like you were right, Byakko. They were guarding more keys.” She passed it to him and he turned the odd key with a square cross-section over in his hands.

Hopping onto the wide control bank, Morgana inserted the keycard they stole from the surveillance office. Green and yellow lights all across the board blinked, then blazed yellow or red. Morgana scanned the board, then screens. He hopped about a foot over, scanned the board, then pressed a few buttons which turned red, and looked up to the screens. “Eeexcelent. The laser trip-sensors have been disabled.”

Akira paced to the control bank. “About damn time. Now we don’t have to dance over every God-damn corner, intersection, and door.” He took his sub-machine gun in his off hand to shake out his right. “I really hope the next asshole’s Palace we infiltrate isn’t as security-obsessed as this paranoid psychopath’s.”

Morgana stowed his collapsed crossbow, then held a fist to his chin. “Well, the vault door is still closed. But between the key you picked up and the one Rider still has, I suspect that’s all that we need to get inside that vault there.” He pointed to a screen showing a large, circular bank vault door. He glanced up at Akira and the kerchief held to his nose. “Should we fall back and take care of the Treasure later?”

“No!” Akira folded the kerchief and jammed it back in a pocket. “We should press on.”

Morgana glanced to Ann, then back at Akira. “You’re unusually insistent. Why?”

“I was shadowing Masa…” The others gave him blank looks. “One of Kaneshiro’s henchmen. He picked up a flunkie and tried to brain Doctor Takemi. If I hadn’t scared him off with this and its dot projector, he might’ve _killed_ her. If I needed to _shoot_, we’d have been _fucked_.” He paused when Makoto twitched at his cursing, and took a deep breath. “That’s for one of their _suppliers_. I don’t even want to imagine what people who owe them money may have to look forward to.”

Makoto rubbed her arm and looked away. “I can’t hold back this time, either. Twelve students have come to the student council for help.” Her arm fell to her side. “I can’t let them go the way of Kiriko-san.”

Ann tottered between Morgana and the two Phantom Thieves garbed in black. She let out a brief breath. “I… guess I can make it for a little longer.”

Morgana’s brows cinched in worry. “Okay, but don’t strain yourself, Panther.”

Akira rolled his eyes at the leader’s hopeless, gushy infatuation. The oni and nekomata they ran into along the way made for little more than a speed bump, but at last they came to what looked like a large assembly room. Dominating one wall was a vault door even bigger in person than on the monitors.

Ann gazed up at it. “This thing is _gigantic_. How are we gonna get it open?”

Akira scratched his face next to his mask. “Well, some semtex along the edge should do it.”

The leader shot him a hooded gaze. Ann blinked and tilted her head. “What’s that?”

Makoto rolled her eyes, but stood back with a hand on her hip, scanning the vault wall. “Based on the security before, we probably have to use both keys at the exact same time.”

Ann flipped one key around her fingers. “Ready.”

Akira looked her up and down, trying not to let his eyes linger on her suit’s cleavage window. “_Where_ were you keeping that?”

Ann stuck her tongue out at him.

Drawing out their new diamond-cross-section key, he headed for the lock on the left and she to the one on the right. Makoto counted down, and on one they both rotated the keys counter-clockwise.

His refused to budge. Black blobs extended from the ceiling like some viscous liquid soaking through a paper.

Makoto readied her shotgun. “Oh, come on! What happened?”

“Mine turned!” Ann protested.

Akira braced his sub-machine gun’s wire stock against his shoulder as black blobs fell from the ceiling and swelled. He opened fire, the suppressed weapon thudding. “Mine didn’t! What’s wrong with this bank? Righty tighty, lefty—”

The first blob fell over and dissipated. Ann took aim at the one closest to her and blasted it, knocking it into a dissolving mass as well, but causing rotating red lights in the ceiling to blaze and a warbling sound filled the air. The first wave of them burst into an array of red, white, purple, and gold oni. The model in red leather swore.

“Orthrus!” Akira called, silvery motes of light gathering into the twin-headed canine. It lunged at the nearest Fuu-Ki. Flames blasted around Makoto as she raced around the assembly room on Johanna.

His Fuu-Ki retreated, leaving an opening to bellow fire at it. Carmen and Zorro tag-teamed an oni while he and Makoto distracted the majority of the oni busy. Once their immediate threat went down, Carmen started slinging ice bolts at the rest. Remembering the maneuver Morgana tried to get him to do with Makoto, he called to Ann, “Take this and hit ‘em all! Andras!”

His twin-headed Persona collapsed in on itself, motes of light scattering for only a moment before they collected back into an owl-headed sorcerer. His Persona brought both hands together and hurled a glistening ball of ice at Carmen. The dancer caught it and the ball burst, but instead of a fast-vanishing explosion, icy chunks swirled around her, growing larger and faster until she flicked her hand, blasting ice in a wide arc.

Four red-skinned oni collapsed in dissolving goo, a Kin-Ki falling with. The remaining Kin-Ki and Fuu-Ki fell under the combined power of Morgana and Makoto’s Personas. They followed the leader’s stealthy way back to the security control room, shut off the alarm, and reset the door.

Akira wiped his forehead with the back of his gloved hand. “Whew. The vault should be a piece of cake compared to the basement here.”

Morgana shot a narrow glare at the transfer student currently in a three-piece suit. “Joker, we just fought _two_ big ambushes. Nightrider’s been adapting to her Persona very well, but Panther is spent and even _you_ can’t hide your exhaustion. Your pace has been getting irregular since that last oni ambush.” He folded up his crossbow and stowed it in the small black bag slung over his shoulder. “Any injuries that need doctor attention?”

Ann and Makoto both look at him. Akira backs up with his hands raised. “Hey, I’m fine.”

Makoto shot him a disapproving, arched eyebrow. “At least wash up before you go anywhere.” She gestured below her nose.

Letting out long breath, Morgana adjusted the tight black hood he wore over his cartoonishly big head. “Time to go home.” He led them to a safe space across the hall, a ventilation and maintenance room with a shaft to the top level, and then back to Shibuya. “Stay safe, everyone.”

Monday, 30 May 2016  
Evening  
Yongen-Jaya Station

Purple skies darkened above them as the Phantom Thieves dispersed across the real Tokyo. Hoping not to have to deal with a lecture from Sojiro, a yawn forced its way out of his mouth as he stepped out of the surprisingly vacant train car. One passenger glanced at Akira, his eyes drifting down a bit before making a disgusted sound and scurrying off. Akira raised his hands to his lips and felt wetness. Red dirtied his fingertips when he pulled his hand away. Checking his coat revealed blood splattered across his lapels. “Shit.”

Hurrying to Leblanc, Akira counted himself fortunate the store was already closed and locked, though the sign still said _Open_. He unlocked it, fixed the sign with his clean hand, washed, gathered his laundry, and went to the coin-op laundromat next to the public bath.

A hand-written note warned the tap-pay machine was out of order, and sure enough it refused to acknowledge his smart phone or start a load. The rest of them looked almost as old as the Second World War, and when he turned on his smart phone’s flashlight what labels remained were faded beyond the point of legibility.

Morgana hopped up and squinted. “Sorry, I can’t make it out either.”

Akira turned the flashlight off. “Fuck my life. I thought my luck was changing when my face stayed clean long enough to find a homeless artist in Shibuya to do a better version of the Phantom Thief logo.”

Morgana sat, ears turning back against his skull. “Too bad you can’t call someone else to do your laundry for you.” When the transfer student tensed, the team leader flicked an ear. “What?”

Scrolling through his call history, Akira found the number for Victoria. A small voice in the back of his mind pointed out how sad it was how few people he’d called since. “I can.” When the guide made a questioning sound, he explained, “Ryuji found a maid service that day you went off with Ann. We can trust this one to stay quiet because if anybody found out about her other job, she’d lose both.”

A nasally female voice answered with a grating level of cheer, “Victoria’s Housekeeping. Do you have any particular requests?” The false enthusiasm made him imagine a guard holding the operator at gunpoint.

“Becky,” Akira answered.

“Specific request fee brings that to five thousand yen.”

“Fine,” he said, finishing the payment from the same sanitized account as before.

He nodded off and Morgana scratched him to wake him when Kawakami arrived at the door to Leblanc. Akira stepped out of the alley onto Leblanc’s small side road. “Hey,” he said, waving her to the laundromat.

When she stepped inside the narrow room, Morgana stood up and sniffed. “There’s something familiar about the girl in a French maid outfit.”

Kawakami placed a hand on her hip. “That meow sounds familiar.”

Akira yawned into his fist, then picked up his school jacket. “You know how to get blood out of clothes?”

His homeroom teacher straightened. “Why?”

He glared. “It’s _mine_, not that it makes any difference to you or anyone else.”

She took the jacket and examined it. “This has been drying for a while. I don’t think these clunky machines have enough power to get blood out. Do you have a first aid kit with hydrogen peroxide?”

He nodded, went to the kit under the sink in Leblanc’s bathroom, and returned with the bottle, a bowl, and box of plastic gloves.

“You think ahead. Thanks.” Kawakami donned a pair of gloves, stretched the dirty portion of the jacket over the wide bowl, and poured hydrogen peroxide on it. The liquid bubbled and she rubbed with her gloved thumbs, poured, and repeated until it looked wet but not bloody.

Akira sat on the uneven stool against the laundromat’s wall. “These are too old to read the instructions, and the only other pay-machines I used at the Inaba Cleanliness Center were new so I just had to tap my phone to pay.”

She looked askance at him. “You wash your own laundry? I thought everyone’s mother did that.”

Akira snorted, then clapped his hand over his nose. “_Ow_. Anyway, it’s not like mother ever had time for me even that one year she took me from my old bastard. I’ve had to take care of myself my whole life.”

Kawakami nodded. “Well, if your room was any indication, you take extreme care of your environment. I’ve seen dedicated cleaning services that wouldn’t get a house that good.” She focused on the laundry machine and scrutinized it for a few moments before slipping a few yen coins into it, turning two of the unlabeled knobs, then pushing the middle one in. It rumbled to life and she looked back to her student. “Thanks for vouching for me when the police interviewed you. I was really worried when Chouno was fired, but it looks like they’re wrapping up the staff purges.”

He shrugged and glanced to the team leader trapped in cat form. “Sometimes justice actually _does_ prevail.” He leaned back against the wall.

Tuesday, 31 May 2016  
Early Morning  
Yongen, Leblanc Loft

Akira smacked his lips. Not just dry, his mouth felt like an army marched barefoot across it. He levered himself up on one elbow, and sat up, pulling his sheet off. Akira stood and checked the time.

A flutter of ears preceded Morgana stretching on his pillow on the bottom of the book shelf next to the bed. “So, you’re awake.”

Akira reached for the water bottle he kept on the windowsill. A quarter bottle was better than nothing, so he drained it and stretched his stiff, achy joints. “Here in body if not in spirit.” He paused. “Am I sick? I don’t remember going to bed.”

Morgana stepped off the circular pillow, stretching out his hind legs. “Technically, you fell asleep in the laundromat, Joker.” He looked to the basket with Akira’s dark clothing stacked in sloppy folds, the school uniform on top. “Your homeroom teacher carried you up, but you never quite woke up. You should’ve said the bank tired you out.”

Akira pulled on his uniform, made the bed, and re-folded his clothes. He pulled his wallet off the windowsill and checked it, but found all sixteen hundred and eighty yen he had yesterday. Then he slid the small boxes out from underneath the work bench to check the gold nameplates they found in the bank earlier.

Morgana jumped up to the corner of the work bench, his tail wrapping around his feet. “Do you really expect _everybody_ to be after you?”

“I was falsely convicted of assault and my old bastard exiled me to the city.” Akira straightened his uniform jacket, then strode downstairs to make himself an omelet for breakfast.

Just as he flipped it into the half-circle shape he liked, the bell rang and Sojiro trotted in. His eyebrows shot up when he spotted the transfer student. “I didn’t think teenagers got up this early.”

Akira tapped a foot, waiting for the omelet to finish cooking. “We kind of have to get up for school and it’s not like this is unusual for me. I don’t know anyone who wakes up later anyway. Day waits for no man.”

“Whoo, boy.” Sojiro scratched his scalp and leaned against the counter. “I didn’t expect a teenager to care about wasting daylight. I thought they stayed up all night, perched on a chair in front of the computer, munching on junk food no matter what’s offered on the table.”

Eyebrow arching, Akira turned to the middle-aged restaurateur. “That was suspiciously specific. Got a problem child in mind? I figured you for the type to never settle or get chained down to kids.”

Sojiro groaned as if mortally wounded. “Jeez. Everybody gets old.”

Akira looked the restaurateur over for tells, but only got strong defensive signals now. “You sure you aren’t thinking of one in particular?”

Sojiro gestured to the range. “Don’t forget to eat your breakfast.”

Akira let out a long breath at the most obvious redirect in conversation history. He forced a shrug, figuring Sojiro must’ve been stuck on some neighbor’s kid while partying through his young adult years. He slid the omelet onto a plate and sat down at the bar, folding his hands for a brief prayer before eating.

Tuesday, 31 May by Daywatch  
Lunchtime  
Shujin, Student Council Office

A knocking at the door broke Makoto’s concentration. The class president set her pencil down on the calligraphy club requisition forms and raised her voice to be heard through the door. “Yes?”

The voluminous blonde pigtails surprised her. Ann slipped inside and closed the door behind herself. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Oh, it’s okay.” Makoto straightened the middle stack. “I’ve already delegated some of the responsibilities I’d been handling to other members of the student council. And once we change Kaneshiro’s heart, that will ease the burden on everyone.”

After taking a few steps further into the room, Ann grasped the fingers of her left hand with her right. “I, uh… I wanted to apologize, Senpai. To be honest, I’ve been wanting to for a while, but realized after we split last night that I hadn’t done it and didn’t want another day to go by. So…” She bowed at the waist. “I’m really sorry. Even more for not doing this earlier.”

Makoto drew back in her seat. “What are you apologizing for, Takamaki-san?”

Ann stood, but her eyes drifted away and her right hand slipped up to twirl at the end of a pigtail. “About blaming you for Kamoshida’s sexual harassment. Even lashing out about you not doing anything about Shiho.” The model bit her lip. “Truth is… she was calling out for me and I wasn’t there for her. I lashed out at you because I didn’t want to admit I was just as guilty.” Her lips twisted, but the smile didn’t look real.

Makoto gestured to the seat on the other side of the small table. “Why don’t you take a seat? Please don’t feel you need to be tense on my account. The way I see it after this past week, I think we’re pretty similar, Takamaki-san.” The president rubbed at a burr on the corner of one of her fingernails as the model sat. “Pushing blame on you was just my own way of avoiding admission of my own worthlessness. I think that was why I treated you all as badly as I did. I tried to tell myself that Suzui-san was a surprise I couldn’t do anything about because I was just following orders, but there were other warning flags. Kiriko-san, for example. To try to displace my own fears, I treated you all badly.” She bowed what little she could in her seat. “So I’m sorry, too, Takamaki-san.”

Ann waved her down. “S-stop that, Senpai! Call it even. I’m pretty sure even Akira was the same way with how you two butted heads. _You_ got us into the bank, after all. And you don’t have to call me san when we’ve been risking our necks together to take Kaneshiro down.”

Makoto’s throat tightened a little. She even used san with Sae. Now that the class junior brought it up, _everyone_ since papa had been filed into a senior to obey for hope of a favor or a junior to placate so she could refocus on seniors. Sae did it so naturally… Makoto tried to think about when she adopted that transactional behavior. She shook her head. “Are you sure that’s okay, Takamaki-s… Takamaki?”

Ann beamed a smile that warmed the room, yet somehow took nothing away from her sense of presence. “Just Ann. We’re comrades in arms, right Makoto?”

The class president swallowed against a sudden lump in her throat. “You really are the heart of the Phantom Thieves. T… Ann.” She fidgeted. “Sorry. I guess I’m not always the quickest on the uptake.”

Ann gave a little giggle and clapped her hands together. “Oh, I know what we should do! Since Morgana’s making us all take the day off to rest and relax, let’s you and I go somewhere after school. There’s a place we can get crepes at Central Street that totally stuffs theirs with deliciousness!”

Makoto felt a smile spread over her own face at the junior’s enthusiasm. “S-sure. Maybe it will even help me think of how to approach Big Sis about the next names.”


	43. June 1st, Vault

Persona 5: Daywatch

Wednesday, 1 June 2016  
After School  
Kaneshiro’s Bank

Akira slid his studded key into the diamond-shaped hole in the steel panel, glancing over at Ann to be sure she was ready. She lifted her pistol and its matte-black new silencer, glanced around, then gave a nod. Morgana cocked his crossbow just in case another trap triggered, then counted down. On one, Akira and Ann turned their keys towards the enormous, circular vault door.

Green indicator lights above the locks blazed, with a series of deep clunks he could feel in his feet as much as hear in his ears. Metallic whirling and groaning emanated from the door before it rotated open. Even before he got to her, Ann’s shoulders slumped at the space beyond. “This guy’s vault is _huge_. How’re we going to find his Treasure in _this_?”

Reaching the inner side of the door, Akira’s eyes widened at a corridor wide enough to drive a semi through, with a slow curve to the left. Safe deposit boxes the size of Shujin’s gym lockers lined both walls from floor to ceiling.

Makoto paused at the threshold, her jaw clenched. “Then we do it the old-fashioned way.” Before he could say anything, she reached out for the closest deposit box, tapped the unlock button, and yanked on its handle.

The box budged open only a centimeter, and the class president froze.

Morgana folded his crossbow and approached. “Nightrider?” He came to a stop right next to her and poked her knee. “She looks just like y—”

Makoto jerked back, teeth bared and shoulders trembling before she punched the box, knocking it ajar. “Bastard!”

Akira came next to her. A wild energy blazed in her eyes. “Calm down, Rider. You’re in the Metaverse with us.”

He reached out, but at the touch of his fingertips, Makoto spun on him, her hand clamping on his wrist. Her eyes wavered for a moment before focusing on his. She let go and took several seconds to regain control of her breathing. “Sorry.”

Ann paced in and put a steadying hand on Makoto’s trembling shoulders, avoiding the spikes. “Are you okay, Rider? What happened?”

Makoto fidgeted, her eyes sweeping over the lock boxes anywhere but near the other Phantom Thieves. “I felt like… for a moment, I _was_ Kaneshiro. I saw him… I _lived_ him planning my father’s murder because dad was closing in on Kaneshiro’s man inside the government.”

Akira frowned and slipped his free hand in his coat pocket. “I figured he would. That or the cops, there’s no way an operation gets as wealthy as his without running across the authorities.”

Sensing a pall forming over the group, Morgana hopped and waved to get their attention. “This just confirms what we already knew when we targeted him. Kaneshiro has to have a change of heart. Otherwise he’s going to keep on corrupting officials and ruining people’s lives. Let’s keep moving, the Treasure is close.” He led the group along the curving hall until slowing down and backing up. Catboy lifted a white hand and pointed at a column of lock boxes. “I’m sensing the Treasure this way.”

“Disguised door?” Akira wondered, reaching out at one of the lock boxes, tapping the unlock button, and pulling.

***

Two boys cheating on the pinball machine looked up, then scrambled to leave. The four Hashiba men closed on the teenage Kaneshiro. Junya backed away from the bar, his hands up in supplication. “G-gentlemen, there’s no need to do anything rash.”

Kaito held up the handful of yen notes Junya had given him. His dark green gaze felt as cold as a shark’s. “You’re short by a lot, Junjun.”

Junya’s butt hit the billiards table. He could feel sweat rolling down him. “We wouldn’t want to do anything to sour things between the Hashiba and Kaneshiro clans.”

With the slowest pace of the bunch, Shichiro sauntered to the cue sticks, grabbed one, then walked up to the table arresting Junya’s escape. Unlike his lazy walk, the powerful jab of the cue stick was so fast it drove the breath from the middle schooler before he saw the move. “Name droppin’ doesn’t work on businessmen.”

**Wealth knows no boundaries, remembers no loyalty.**

Coughing, Junya clutched the forming bruise. “P-please, I don’t have that much right now.”

Shichiro nudged Kaito out of the way, then slammed the cue stick against Junya’s sides.

The teen could’ve sworn he felt his whole insides move. His buy wouldn’t mature for a year, and the House heads’ stinginess even when they had money was what forced him to the Hashibas in the first place. “I… I could get you VIP rooms at—”

Shichiro slammed the butt of the cue stick into the teenager’s belly again.

**See how poverty invites misfortune.**

Junya coughed, clutching the new bruise. “I don’t _have_ any more. My investments will take time to mature.” When Shichiro drew back the cue stick, Junya threw out his arms. “But they will, I _swear_.”

“Debts are meant to be paid, in cash or in real estate,” the stubble-chinned adult growled. He swung the heavy end of the cue stick across the side of Junya’s head, sending the teenager sprawling over the end of the billiards table. “You better find a way to pay by the fourteenth.” He dropped the stick clattering to the floor and the adults strode out.

***

Akira jerked his hand back, shaking it as if he could get the filth of Kaneshiro’s memories away by such action. “His life kinda reminds me of mine. Never getting any slack, even for being young.” In one motion, he leaped to the top of the deposit box. The top of the stack still a ways away, he reached for another box to make stairs.

***

Junya slouched back against an overstuffed chair, almost purring. He looked across the insurance company’s conference room, a dark-stained wood table clashing with the sterile plastic wall panels. His oldest bodyguard stood at his side, his sharp, dark suit making him look like a perfect symbol of corporate success. Exactly the look Junya wanted for the Kaneshiro Group.

At the other end of the round table sat the head of the Kaneshiro Group. The old man had almost as little hair as a grip on reality. He looked more like a museum mannequin than leader of the most powerful yakuza in Tokyo in his purple kimono. Two of the family bodyguards stood flanking him, their faces blank but the sharp lines on their necks betraying their tension. Old man Kaneshiro ranted, that vein on the side of his head looking more prominent than ever. “Fucking moron, Junjun! You think you can trust cops you _buy_? How long are they going to stay their hand when they learn they’re being paid with drug money?”

**See how wealth begets power.**

Junya slammed his hands on the table at that demeaning childhood nickname. He reached out a hand and his bodyguard set a cigarette in it. “Don’t blame me for your lack of preparation, Uncle.”

The head of the House slammed his fists into the table. “We have rules for a reason, Junjun. Hands off the drugs, kids, and state attorneys. And never trust a sellsword! Breaking those won’t just bring the cops down on the clan, the other Houses will come at us for free!”

**There are only those who claim money, and those who make it for you.**

Uncle jabbed a wrinkled finger at him. “It’s only a matter of time until that Chink double-crosses you. He only came here because he was betraying the Ikeda Group. Well I won’t give him the chance. I’m shutting it down and disposing of him. This House lives on _our_ people.”

Junya laughed, his slight belly shaking. “You ancient idiot.” He slapped his hands on the table as he sat up, his presence dominating the room. “Dead men don’t pay bills. If you’d bothered to learn from the Russians like I did, you’d know how much better kompromat is than dead debtors. And it doesn’t matter how powerful our enemies are if they’re at each others’ throats instead of after ours.”

Uncle motioned his hands from his bodyguards to Junya. “You’ll have plenty of time to think about it from my hostess club for the rest of your life, never managing so much as a whore’s schedule.” It took the old man a few seconds to realize his bodyguards hadn’t moved.

Smirking, Junya leaned back in his padded chair. “You always took loyalty for granted. I promised them a raise and free lifetime access to _my_ hostess club.” He chuckled. “Your men have been _my_ men for years.” He lit his cigarette, took a drag, then leaned forward. “Give him a long fishing tour.”

The two men lifted Uncle out of the chair. His face turned red. “Only power is respected!”

**Money is power.**

Junya tapped ashes into a waiting tray. “Have you not noticed how few cops have gone after my boys? You relic of the last age. It’s time the Kaneshiro Group gets with the modern day. International drugs. The internet. Overseas money laundering. You may have been fine with always being one bust away from bankruptcy as long as you told yourself you had purity and feigned loyalty.” Junya took a deep drag from his cigarette. “But I will _never_ be poor again.”

***

Another ring of the vault opened before them, and Akira stepped up to open more memory lock-boxes. Sparing a glance at Akira, Morgana looked up to the top of the next wall of lock boxes. His eyes narrowed for a moment before he looked at the boy with red gloves. “Do you think you could open one more, Joker? The Treasure is so close!”

Akira drew in a deep breath. A dozen showers wouldn’t wash off the all-too-long moments lived through Kaneshiro’s memories.

To his surprise, Makoto came to his rescue. “Byakko, he’s been through _eight_ of Kaneshiro’s memories. I could barely handle _one_. Surely that’s enough to ask of anybody.” After the long-coated teen jumped down, she came to a stop next to him, their eyes meeting for a moment. “I’ll do the next one.”

Makoto leaped up, ignoring their protestations. Her hand clamped on the handle, thumb flicking the lit switch, and pulling out the tall safety deposit box. After a few moments, she twitched and shook out her hand, then hopped up to the top of the next ring.

Morgana bounded to the top of the stack, tied off a cord, then lowered it so they’d have a quick descent once time came to steal the treasure. “This should be it, the treasure is very close.”

Akira grabbed the nylon cord thinner than his pinkie and pulled himself to the top, popping up as soon as he could get a grip. A concrete pillar lay before them, reaching from floor to ceiling and big enough to fit all of Leblanc in the center. A steel door big enough to drive a car through gaped open and a Shadow guard stood in the gap. Another similarly heavy steel security gate filled a gap in the deposit boxes to the left.

Behind him, Makoto grunted as she pulled herself up.

Morgana waited until Ann reached the top. “Okay, everyone. Just one Shadow left guarding the location of Kaneshiro’s Treasure. Get ready to hit quick, because I can’t guarantee Joker or I are fast enough to ambush it at this distance.” His eyes turned to Akira. “I’ll try to get this one’s mask, but have your fastest Persona ready just in case.”

Akira nodded, readying his sub-machine gun and searching though himself for some connection that felt like he’d be able to hit hard and fast, and found his mind’s eye coming to the cat in his physical gaze.

“Hey, intruder!” The Shadow lifted its tonfa, missing a swipe at the cat, though its body seized and bloated, consumed by black as Morgana leaped at its face.

The Shadow burst into a trio of tall, powerfully-built females. The one on the left bared light purple skin and no clothing to speak of. She gripped a thin, wicked-looking sword in each hand. The other two were covered head-to-toe in red cloth reminding Akira of cartoon ninjas but for the white nou mask. Their claws were smaller than Nekomata’s, but still glistened in the light.

As he hit the ground, a ball of fire struck the purple one and a larger icy one exploded against the demon in the middle. He shot a burst into the demon on the right, one of his bullets hitting true and knocking it down. “Nekomata!”

His own nimble Persona leaped from the burst of silvery motes, her claws ringing off the purple ogre-woman’s swords.

Zorro rushed at the demons in red, landing a lucky stab and letting the one in the middle slump to the ground. Ann continued lobbing ice at the demons as Makoto slid down the cord.

The demon his shot knocked down shuddered, then kipped up to its feet and clawed at Zorro in an angry frenzy. The burly Persona fell to the ground, dissolving into motes as Morgana fell with a cry.

Carmen arrived just in time to whip at the demons in red, buying Makoto time to get there on Johanna while Nekomata continued trading swipes and parries with the purple Shadow. The dancer swung its whip, but instead of striking the retreating demons, she unleashed a freezing gale filled with shards of ice.

One withstood the magic, but the other became encrusted in frost, just for Johanna to smash it to pieces with its armored bulk. He pulled the trigger and held it until the gun stopped firing at the red demon. Bolts of fire and ice finished it off.

Not letting up for a moment, the purple swordmaster struck a heavy blow into Nekomata, knocking it to the floor and Akira to one knee with a pained growl. Tired and sore, when the blade-woman scored a deep slice against Carmen, he reached inside for any kind of power to set it off-balance. Hifumi’s relentless surprise moves came to mind, and his mouth opened. “Shesha!”

The five-headed, celestial-scaled serpent coalesced into existence. All five heads opened their mouths and roared a bluish beam into the Shadow, knocking it down.

The Phantom Thieves fanned around it, weapons up even though he knew his sub-machine gun was empty.

The purple-skinned ogre-woman heaved in breaths, her long black hair disheveled and not quite covering enough of her chest. She looked up at Akira as his serpentine Persona came to a stop next to him. “Few are foolhardy enough to deny Kaneshiro. Fewer still powerful enough to stand up to him. How do you come here?”

Akira held his firing position, though his Persona would have to take care of things if she pulled out a surprise. “We’re here to change the world. One selfish prick at a time.”

She took a steadying breath and her grip tightened on her twin swords. “You think this world is yours for the shaping, but not Kaneshiro’s? Your arrogance is astounding.”

Ann came alongside Akira, the powerful beam of light below her pistol’s barrel throwing an oval on the Shadow and the darkened vault behind. “It’s not arrogance at all! It’s resolve. If that goes for Kaneshiro, why not for us?”

The purple Shadow glared. “The many do not want change.”

This time Morgana hopped to the fore, crossbow still aimed at the Shadow. “Most people just want to get along. If they can do that with the same, they’ll support that. If they can do that with change, they’ll support that too.”

Akira nodded, his stance straightening as he got into the argument. “It only takes engagement from three percent of the population to effect systemic change.”

Ann’s eyebrows rose enough to be clear despite her mask. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Akira said, his Persona’s tail shifting behind them. “Less than five percent of England’s population rose up against the entitled nobles in the Dispenser War, but the tax collectors were required to collect from the titled as well as the workers after. Here in Japan only about three percent wanted to keep trading with the West and the Dutch were invited to our ports during the height of our isolation period.”

Makoto’s eyes flicked back and forth as she scanned her memory for a moment. “How do you know that?”

He shrugged. “Resistance, and rebellion against unjust authority was kind of a recurring theme in arguments against my old bastard.”

The purple-skinned Shadow slumped, one of her swords falling to the floor with a clatter. “Your point is well made, bandit. But have you considered the cost of crushing the Kaneshiros? Tearing all like them from society?”

“We’re no bandits,” Akira snapped. He lowered his sub-machine gun. “We’re here to reform society, not destroy it.”

The ogre looked up at him, her messy black hair reminding him of a child caught in the rain. “Lofty goals, intruders. You really think you stand a chance?”

Akira nodded. “I _know_ we can. Any enemy can be defeated piecemeal.”

The ogre picked up her sword. Ann and Makoto tensed, but Akira noticed Morgana watching with a relaxed sway to his tail. “Then join my power to your confidence and let evil hearts be changed, one by one.” Closing her eyes against the Phantom Thieves, the Shadow stood and burst into black streaks flinging into his mask.

He stumbled once before catching his footing.

Makoto shook her head and lowered her shotgun. “Even seeing it four times, I still can’t believe it.”

Morgana smirked as if he achieved the victory himself. “Neither can I, to be honest, and I’ve been watching him do it since we stumbled across it in Kamoshida’s castle. Good job purifying another Shadow.”

Akira tilted his head. “You guys stepped in and talked with it too.”

Morgana gave a thoughtful smile. “True, but that doesn’t diminish you reaching out. You really are something, Joker.”

Makoto stepped past them into the dark vault. “So Kaneshiro’s Treasure is in here?”

Ann took the lead, sweeping her pistol-flashlight over a vault strewn with yen notes and gold bars. She took her time moving the illumination to make a more methodical search, and stopped at a shimmering cloud. “There it is.”

Makoto scratched her head. “What are you talking about? Are you saying all this,” she paused to pick up a sloppy wad of yen notes carpeting the floor in mounds, “isn’t his Treasure?”

Morgana cackled and folded up his crossbow. “Those are just accents. _This_ is his Treasure,” he pointed his folded up rod at the cloud. “All we have to do now is send a calling card.”

“He needs to be put in mind that his distorted desire is a _thing_ that can be stolen,” Akira said.

Makoto’s eyes widened for a moment. “I see. By drawing his attention with the calling card, you force it to physically manifest. Is that what you did to Kamoshida?”

“Yep. You’re pretty quick on the uptake,” Morgana said, grinning ear to ear. “Now that we’ve secured a route to the Treasure, it’ll be no problem to speed through here next time. All we need to do is send the calling card.”

“Let’s do it now,” she said, planting her free fist on her hip.

“Whoa,” Morgana held his hand up to stop her. “Fighting a palace ruler is a _very_ dangerous thing. We need to make sure we’re as prepared as possible. And we’d need to write that calling card _tonight_, and distribute them in the morning without getting caught.”

“I’m with her,” Akira said.

“Of course you would be,” Ann muttered.

“I just want to keep people like Doctor Takemi from getting killed,” Akira shot back. “It’s not like we have a convenient timer telling us ‘ten days until Masa gets Kaneshiro’s permission to shoot her in the back of the head’. And then there’s all the other students who are so desperate they went to the _student council_ for help. Besides, Ryuji might still be too injured to fight, but he can help us distribute cards.”

Morgana’s mouth twisted for a few moments. “We’re not especially depleted right now. I suppose we can get enough rest even after preparing a calling card to be ready tomorrow.”

Once they strode down the ramp back into the darkened, dirty facsimile of Shibuya, the conversation turned back to the plan. Ann began unscrewing her silencer. “So how are we going to get the calling card to Kaneshiro? I have a feeling he wouldn’t be as generous as he was when he let you and Reaper get out of Spiral alive.”

Akira folded his sub-machine gun’s wire stock. “Shit, I didn’t think of that. It would be suicide to try to just storm into Spiral again. And that’s assuming he’s there instead of one of his other dozens of businesses.”

Makoto grimaced. “Sorry about that. It’s my fault Reaper’s mother is being shadowed now.”

Morgana put away the squared rod of his folded crossbow. “There’s no way we could have done it without your help, Nightrider. Thanks to what you did, we could get inside his bank and find his Treasure.”

Makoto tapped her gloved fingers against her lips. “A similar method _would_ ensure he gets it.” Her head straightened. “Byakko, could I borrow Reaper? I’ll need your help, too.”

Morgana tilted his head at her, eyes squinted in confusion. “Um… I suppose, but I will _not_ okay you marching straight back into that club. Joker’s right, he might not even be there and even if he is, he might not let you live a second time.”

Through the wide slits in her heavy iron mask, the transfer student could see the gears behind her eyes whirling. It reminded him of Hifumi deciding which counter-strategy she wanted to crush him with. Makoto’s lips pressed into a thin smile. “Oh, don’t worry. He won’t see it coming.” Her crimson gaze locked onto his. “How soon can you have eighty copies of the calling card printed?”

Akira’s eyes stretched wide. “_Eighty_? I’d have to call Reaper, he was the one who lived next to a print shop. Once we actually got to it, he had a dozen pasted all over Shujin by the next morning. I mean, I commissioned an improved logo from one of the homeless artists drifting in Inokashira Park, but getting it to Kaneshiro would be the hard part. Not the making it. What are you planning?”

Makoto disassembled her shotgun, her smile even more pointed. “You guys write it. Let me handle getting it to him. Come on, Byakko.”

Morgana nodded, but looked to the others. “Make sure you get plenty of rest.”

Thursday, 2 June 2016  
Morning  
Aoyama, Road to Shujin

The air seemed hotter than normal, thick as if the humidity competed with the anticipation of the day’s upcoming battle to change Kaneshiro’s heart. Even the traffic, as ever-present as it was, seemed more subdued and distant. The carefree chatter of the students walking to the gate ahead of Akira made things feel even more jarring.

He stumbled when a dyed blonde shoved into his personal space and elbowed him with a face-splitting grin. “It’s finally the day to steal his Treasure, eh?”

Akira’s hand lashed out, swatting the track star across his bad dye job. He hissed, “Shut the fuck up in public, dumbass.”

Ryuji’s grin recovered after only a beat and he bumped the transfer student again. At least his volume lowered to a whisper, “I am _so_ psyched to finally do this.” He leaned into Akira’s personal space again as they passed the gates. “That fuzzbucket can’t keep me outta _this_ fight.”

Akira fought to keep from rolling his eyes. “He’s still out spreading cards, remember? He’ll be back at lunch, and he’ll decide if you’re healthy enough to come _then_.” He paused to push open the door. “And if he says no, I happen to agree. I got cracked ribs when I was fourteen. That hurt for a _month_.”

One of the students behind whispered, “Sakamoto’s got broken ribs?”

The one next to him shrugged. “Whaddya expect from a delinquent? I wonder if the transfer did it.”

Akira clenched his teeth, but the runner just rolled his eyes and strode through the open door.

Thursday, 2 June 2016  
Lunch Time  
Shujin Rooftop

Ryuji kicked at the roof, sending a small pebble skipping out through the bars and into the courtyard. He turned his rage-twisted face back on the team leader perched on a desk. “You guys _better_ steal his heart.”

Morgana looked over the assembled Phantom Thieves, his tail twitching behind him at the argument over keeping a wounded member out of a battle against a Palace ruler. “Don’t worry, Reaper. We’ve got a good rhythm. Nightrider’s meshing pretty well with the Phantom Thieves.

Akira slipped his hands in his pockets, resolved to stay out of this particular spat between the track star and the team’s Metaverse guide. “It’s no big deal, Ryuji.”

He growled and stopped, his hand on the door handle. “’Course _you_ say that. You get to go ‘round with two hot chicks.”

Makoto looked like she couldn’t decide between choking in embarrassment and preening in pride.

Akira covered his red face with his hand as Ann scoffed.

The door opened into Ryuji’s shoulder. “Ow.”

He knew it was Haru even before he saw the curly brown hair from the surprised squeak. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

Ryuji froze, staring for long seconds before Ann swallowed her last bite of onigiri and coughed into her fist. The sound broke the spell on Ryuji and he pulled the door open the rest of the way. “Uh… no biggie. We were just finishin’.” He glanced at the others. “I’m still gonna see you there.” He held the door open as she stepped onto the roof, trowel and hand rake in her left. Ann and Makoto followed the track star down.

Having paused eating to watch the argument and shoot down Ryuji’s reasons for going along, he picked up his tray and ate another sushi.

Haru paused, the tools still in her hand but her eyes on the Phantom Thieves’ leader. A moment passed before she let out a quick but mournful breath. “I always wished I could’ve had a pet ever since I saw Kirijo with her shiba.” She lifted her right hand. “M-may I?”

Akira shrugged. “Go ahead.”

Morgana’s ears flattened even before her hand touched and he snapped, “Don’t make decisions for—”

Her fingers stroked down the black fur between his ears, and when she scratched at the base of one ear, Morgana stretched his head up into the manicured digits. It only took a moment before a deep thrum rumbled from his throat. A faint smile spread over Haru’s lips. “It’s interesting how small the conditions can be that cause a change in behavior in animals.”

Akira swallowed another small sliced roll of sushi. “I guess habit is always in the wings. I remember Haruko’s dog went after me when Yoshida and I were running one day.”

Her fingers went still. Morgana glared at the hand. “I didn’t say stop.”

Akira snorted in amusement. “What’s wrong, didn’t you not want her to pet you?”

Morgana puffed out his chest. “I… I’m just being gentlemanly.” He leaned closer to her again.

Haru resumed scratching the back of the guide-trapped-in-cat-form’s head. “It must be so simple being an animal. No facades on cause and effect. Humans are ruled by the same nature, we just add pointless steps and call it decorum.”

Akira paused, sushi in his chopsticks halfway to his mouth. “There are tons of differences between humans and animals. We make tools.”

“Humans are animals,” Haru replied, though her tone sounded more like a classroom recitation than casual conversation. “And animals use tools. Capuchin Monkeys use rocks to break nuts, and they chip and break them to make better hammers.”

Akira opened his mouth to retort, his long-running conditioning to be right compelling him to defend his argument. But his curiosity got the best of him. “Really? Monkeys actually _make_ tools?”

Haru gave a faint smile, though the gesture looked genuine this time. “Not just monkeys, apes and beavers too. Sometimes to make shelter, sometimes to get to food. It’s all to satisfy the drives of instinct. That’s what rules all animals. And since humans are animals, us too. Chemical reactions. The chain of cause and effect.”

Morgana’s ear twitched, and he give Haru’s lowered hand a distracted glare. “A chain…”

Heart rate jumping, Akira set his tray down and chopsticks on it. Talk of people being animals went against everything that felt right, but reducing them to chemical reactions… “That’s like Tesla calling people meat machines.”

“Well, we are,” she said with a shrug.

“People aren’t machines!” Akira felt his fists closing. “Without the capacity for free will and thought, we wouldn’t even be able to ask if we are. People wouldn’t be able to make smart decisions _or_ dumb ones. We’ve known humans are capable of choice and independent thought. Rene Descartes. ‘I think, therefore I am’.”

She gave him a soft smile, though it reminded him of his mother before she called him a child and said something demeaning his intelligence. “Oh, Akira-kun. Things like independent thought are just misconstrued interpretations of how we reflect the processes around us. The present state of the universe is the effect of its past and cause of its future. Pierre-Simon Laplace.”

The bell to start fourth period rang and Akira cursed. He grabbed his lunch box, stuffed a couple of the sushi rolls still left in his mouth, and chewed as he ran for the door. Haru followed, her pace heavy and eyes on the stairs.


	44. June 2nd, Breaking the Vault

Persona 5: Daywatch

Thursday, 2 June 2016  
Lunchtime  
Shibuya, Spiral Hostess Club

Rapid footfalls scrambled down the back hallway, pausing just outside his door. Kaneshiro reached around his laptop for a champagne flute. He took a deep drink. This week wasn’t looking good. The police snooping around didn’t bother him, but moving labs cost money. What grated his nerves, however, was his network going silent. A few street-level drug pushers could be easily replaced, but the people disappearing went all the way up to Hirotoshi. And so did rumors of henchmen turning themselves over to the authorities.

The door flew open and his bodyguard popped to his feet, pistol up before the messenger in a crisp business suit surged in, breathing heavily. “S-sir!” He paused to gulp a deeper breath and held out a small, red piece of paper. “These things just showed up all over Central Street.”

At a small wave of Kaneshiro’s hand, the gunman slipped his pistol back in its quickdraw holster and sat back down. The clan boss took a deep drink of champagne. His uncle would’ve beaten a messenger for interrupting lunch, but business opportunities could come at any time. “What is it, Masui?”

The courier took a shallow step closer, still looking out of breath. “A… calling card, sir.”

Kaneshiro set down his champagne and took a bite of chicken piccata. “Well, read it.”

Masui gulped, fidgeting for a long few seconds. “But sir…”

Kaneshiro glanced at his stock market trading program. Ikeda was trading higher today. He sighed, then thought back to the gaps in his clan. Replacing personnel meant private investigators and other trouble-shooters. He glared up at the courier. “I said read it. I’m a busy man.”

Masui swallowed, fidgeting for a moment longer before staring down to the strange red card. “Sir Kaneshiro Junya, the pitiful sinner consumed by gluttony. You indulge in cowardly scams on children, blackmail, and drug trafficking in your desperate want for money. Your punishment shall be visited upon you by your own hand. I, the Phantom Thief of Hearts, shall steal your distorted desires without fail.”

Swallowing champagne, Kaneshiro glared over the top of the flute glass. “You wasted my time with some stupid prank?”

Masui took a stumbling step closer. “Sir, we’ve been finding these things scattered _all over_ Central Street.” He pulled out his phone and checked his messenger. “I’ve even gotten texts about them being found farther out over Shibuya. People are talking about it online. Clan heads are going to find out…”

Kaneshiro set down his champagne hard enough to splash a droplet out. “Don’t waste my time with stupid shit.” He sneered. “Phantom Thief? Ha!”

His arm candy, the buxom girl cutting his next bite of chicken, paused to look up at him with a tremor in her eyes. “But if we can’t get that protection money—”

Kaneshiro slapped her hard enough to send the knife tumbling to the table. “Don’t you ever presume to tell me my business. This city and all the money in it is _mine_. All the other clans are afraid because _mine_ is the one raking in the money.” He glared up at Masui. “Some so-called thief says he’ll steal from _me_? He’ll soon learn his mistake.” Having to replace clan businessmen wasn’t bad to start with, but some threats needed a full salvo. Computer crackers, stake-outs, burglary experts. “Spread the word.” He paused to eat another bite of chicken and capers. “This month’s quota just went up.”

Thursday, 2 June 2016  
After School  
Shibuya, Station Walkway

Leaning against the concrete wall next to the track star, Akira opened the link in Mishima’s text to a browser page. “And there’s another forum talking about a new sighting of the calling card.” He closed his browser and looked up at the stuffy class president. “I have to admit, I was worried about your plan. It’s gutsy, but looks like it’s paying off.”

Makoto gave a humble shrug of her shoulders. “Since the rest of you couldn’t find out where Kaneshiro was, and it would be too dangerous to try going directly to him, message en masse seemed the only way. I’m sure his lackeys have brought at least one to him by now.”

Morgana straightened on the transfer student’s shoulder, giving a smile. “For our newest member, you sure have a good grasp of the theatrics of a phantom thief. The true brains of this operation.”

Standing up from the wall, Akira retorted, “Hey, I’m here too!”

Ryuji pulled his hands out of his pockets. “And I’m the one who went postin’ it all over the place.” He shot a narrow gaze at Makoto. “You even made me dress all up like six times.”

Akira rolled his eyes. “It’s called a disguise, Ryuji. Even not being a thief, I’m familiar with the idea. We’d do it all the time at Inuri when we were going to prank the cops.”

Ann crossed her arms tighter. “I’m just anxious to go after him. First Kamoshida, now a real live criminal overlord.” She made a tight smile. “I could get used to this kind of phantom thieving.”

Nodding, Makoto’s tense stance hinted much more tension. “We steal the Treasure and the ruler’s heart changes, right?”

Morgana gave a nod and smile. “Exactly.” He glanced to the track star. “A certain someone still struggles to comprehend it.”

Teeth bared, Ryuji snapped, “Get off my back, cat! This is only our second Palace, and this whole thing is weird.”

Akira shot him a smirk. “Technically, he’s on _my_ back.”

Ryuji rolled his eyes. “C’mon, not you too.”

Makoto clasped her hands, eyes to the pavement. “Kaneshiro’s been making thousands of people’s lives a living hell, and I am no better for failing to do anything before. I should’ve done something with Kamoshida, but I can do something about this now.”

Akira held out a fist to her, but when she looked at it with a quirked eyebrow he lowered his hand.

Standing up, the leader took a glance at the assembled Phantom Thieves. “Everyone ready?” When they nodded, Morgana smiled. “Then let’s do this.”

Thursday, 2 June 2016  
After School  
Kaneshiro’s Bank Vaults

Morgana called up from the walkway of the inner ring, “Looks clear.”

Akira glanced back at the circular walls they bypassed, then took the nylon cord in hand and rappelled down. He brought his sub-machine gun up as soon as his feet hit the floor. “I don’t like this. Patrols are up in the whole bank _but_ the vaults? I smell a trap.”

Ann groaned as she descended after him. “Don’t say that, we could use a lucky break.”

Makoto sighed from the top of the stack of lockboxes and slung her shotgun on her shoulder by its strap. “He’s probably right. There’s no better time to set a trap than the eve of an enemy’s action.”

Akira paused at the gaping vault door, looking over Makoto as she slid down to the inner ring concourse. Despite her settling into a wary stance, a calculating gleam shone in her eye that set his heart pumping. “You and I will have to play a game of shogi after this is all over.”

Her boots hit the floor with a thump and she looked him in the eye. The bright lights over the concourse cast her in stark greys and blacks of sharp shadows. Her mask made it hard to tell, but he thought Makoto’s eyebrows rose. “You play shogi?”

Tossing his sub-machine gun from hand to hand, Akira smirked. “Shogi, go, labyrinth. You name it, I’m game.”

Morgana unfolded his crossbow. “Let’s steal the Palace ruler’s Treasure first.” He paced into the core vault, dark as a spider’s burrow. Like last time, gold bars and yen notes carpeted the floor in loose piles. Ann’s gun-light swept across the dark vault, slowing when it illuminated a wall a few meters from the back that wasn’t there last time. The spotlight froze when it reached a large, circular opening. Beyond the opening lay something like a table crammed with gears, levers, and other mechanics.

“What… is it?” Akira leaned one way, then another to try to figure out what the Treasure was.

Makoto squinted. “I think it’s some kind of printing press. The old-fashioned kind with movable type or woodcut images. I’d say it was some kind of money printer.”

Akira shrugged. “Well, that was easy.” He trotted forward, but the instant he was about to reach the threshold, a circular door slid into the space, then whirled into a clockwise spin. Kaneshiro cackled, and white lights lit up the enormous vault chamber. The yakuza boss smirked at them from a metal grating catwalk over the new sub-vault door. Akira groaned. “Look, we fought our way here _twice_. Can’t you just make this easy and get out of our way?”

Shadow Kaneshiro’s lips pulled into a deeper sneer. “Tch. You only got here because of _luck_, but your luck is about to run out.”

Ann pointed her suppressed pistol at him with one hand. “You can’t just walk over all the people of Shibuya!”

Shadow Kaneshiro smirked. “It is the way of the world for the mighty to take from the weak. And what is might but wealth? People will do _anything_ for money.”

“Bullshit,” Akira shouted, hating how much like his father the yakuza boss sounded. “There are honest people who can’t be bought. And some of us just happen to be standing in front of you today.”

Shadow Kaneshiro’s smirk held fast. “Those people just need a certain… leverage to convince them to play along.” Hand going to his chin, he scrutinized Akira. “Now what would yours be? Drugs to make it feel like the shitty world around you is a little farther away? A few photos of your family where they think they’re safe to remind you how vulnerable your kin are? The… _touch_ of a woman—”

“What is it with all you assholes,” Akira snapped, “and saying I need some woman to complete my life? _I__’__m_ here now.” He braced behind his sub-machine gun, aiming at the Shadow’s pudgy if immaculately-dressed belly. “And I’m going to take you down.” He glanced at Makoto. “Though I just so happen to have two girls tougher than nails who have the same plan.”

Makoto raised her shotgun. “Right.”

Morgana aimed his crossbow. “The police may not have gotten you yet, but you’ll go _crawling_ to them by the time we’re done with you! And everyone out there will know that the Phantom Thieves can clean up anyone!”

Shadow Kaneshiro’s hands slammed on the metal railing as rage twisted his face. “There’s no such thing as a _clean_ person. Just what each person’s dirt is.”

He jerked, clenching the rail to hold him up as his body stretched upwards. His eyes widened and glazed over, but continued to expand, pushing out and up his face, darkening like red gemstones until they looked like compound eyes. His already pale skin whitened until it reminded Akira of a bloated corpse floating on the sea, hardening and segmenting. His stylish silk coat merged into his chitinous surface, and broad, translucent wings like a fly unfurled behind him. Shadow Kaneshiro’s monstrous form stood twice as tall. Gold glinted at one of his left wrists.

Before he could line up his gun, Shadow Kaneshiro flapped his wings and flexed his arms, emitting a solid wake of pressure that hit Akira like a train and knocked Makoto to all fours. “It has always been the weak that consume the strong.”

“Then how did _you_ last so long, Junjun?” Akira shouted, going for a detail from Kaneshiro’s memories in the hopes it would make him leave an opening.

He whirled on him and jumped down from the catwalk. “I’m no poor weakling!”

A ball of ice slammed into the monstrous Shadow, exploding in a huge burst of frost.

He shook his arms and flapped his wings, ice cracking and falling off. “God damn punks. You’re gonna cry at me for flexing my power over others, but then do the same thing against me?” He snapped his fingers.

Six man-sized pustules of black muck appeared across the vault, quivering for just a heartbeat before bursting into various oni.

Akira gave a groan. “Aw, c’mon. We already fought through these bozos to get to you.”

A snow-white oni whirled a double-bladed staff sword and drew up in a pose Akira recognized as charging its magic, left hand held flat before the hole through its head where a face should be.

Having defeated one in the halls above, Akira didn’t even have to concentrate to change Personas. “Agathion!”

Motes of pale light coalesced into the green imp hiding in a gold vase, which thrust its fingers at the oni, the lightning bolt knocking it to the ground.

Makoto ran over it, blasting it and the Sui-Ki behind it into dissolving smoke.

Seeing a red-skinned oni heft its greatclub and chase after her, Akira brought out Pillar of Heaven and pelted the oni with darkness until it collapsed, then turned to Shadow Kaneshiro and continued. Fire bolts joined while Carmen and Zorro tag-teamed the last oni.

When all four of their Personas concentrated back on him, Shadow Kaneshiro raged as he fled their attacks. “You thieving hypocrites! The one in the black mask doesn’t hold anything back to get what he wants. Why should I be any different?”

Akira aimed down the sights in the top of his sub-machine gun. “Don’t try to hide your cruelty behind some other person’s heavy-handedness. _You__’__re_ the one responsible for _your_ actions. And when it comes time to be judged, you’re the only one who will have to excuse yourself.”

Wings buzzing, Shadow Kaneshiro hopped away from a fireball lobbed by Johanna, then growled at a stab from Zorro before bashing away the burly Persona with a flick of his segmented arm that sent Morgana’s Persona flying. The monstrous Shadow raged, “You may be stronger than you look, but you’re still nothing but low-down punks! I have the resources to show you your place.”

A snap of his fingers, and another eight oni sprouted from the ground, piled yen notes and gold bars tumbling from their footsteps.

Carmen and Zorro tag-teamed a Kin-Ki on the far side of the vault while he sicced Agathion on both of the Fuu-Ki.

Shadow Kaneshiro hopped up to evade Makoto, his wings buzzing. He flitted back and forth to avoid Makoto’s firebolts, then Akira’s when he summoned Pillar of Heaven. “You little shits! I crawled from the mud to where I am.”

Akira shot a burst from his sub-machine gun. “That’s no excuse for you to push others into the mud. How many people have _you_ beaten with pool cues because they couldn’t pay?”

Shadow Kaneshiro came to a hover in midair, giving Johanna and Carmen a perfect stationary target for exploding balls of elemental power.

Still staring down three purple oni, the transfer student zapped each of them with howling dark energy from Pillar, but they kept closing on Zorro. Eyes growing wide as he backpedaled, Morgana shot one in the throat, bringing it to its knees, but the others sped up their charge. “A little help here!”

“Shesha!” Akira howled, digging inside for that focused passion Hifumi brought out so easily in her shogi matches. The starscape-skinned serpent coalesced as the purple oni slashed into Zorro, the serpents’ heads opening singing mouths and unleashing rays of cyan energy into all three Sui-Ki. The one on its knees collapsed into fading smoke, the other two falling to the floor, wide open for Zorro to stab them through the head and finish them off.

The rabble finished, Akira turned to Shadow Kaneshiro. Shesha blazed beams of cyan light from all five singing mouths into the monstrous, bug-faced form.

Shadow Kaneshiro fell to the ground, knocking gold bars tumbling and yen notes fluttering. The Phantom Thieves formed a ring around him, guns up, with their Personas close by. Kaneshiro glared up at them, the anger somehow clear despite the red bug eyes. “You… you bastards. You condemn me when you’re no different than Black Mask. Goin’ around, takin’ whatever you want from other people’s hearts.”

Ann pointed her gun at his face, “Don’t impose your selfish motivations on us. We’re here to steal _distorted desires_, not your money or secrets.”

Akira stood straighter. “Right! We fight to set people free, not to trap them in a cage of debt or despair.”

Makoto glared down the top of her shotgun, looking unnervingly like a professional soldier. “Your fate was sealed long ago. We’re just the heralds, Kaneshiro. You murdered my father because he was _inconvenient_, but we’ll see you in prison.” Her shotgun thundered, and when the monstrous Shadow stood, the other Phantom Thieves added their gunfire.

Shadow Kaneshiro slammed his fists into the ground, sending out a shockwave knocking all four Phantom Thieves flying over the messy vault floor. Yen notes fluttered all around them, but not enough to hide Kaneshiro lifting a deformed hand with thumb and finger poised together. “You think I don’t have the resources to destroy you? Ha! Even the government can’t help but bow down to the power of my money. Even the commissioner will turn a blind eye for the right price.”

His fingers snapped.

The lights went off, leaving the vault in pitch black outside the cone of Ann’s gun-light. The sound of Shadow nodules bursting raised the hair on the back of Akira’s neck. The dim glow of Carmen and Shesa only gave enough light to see the Personas themselves.

Something scampered through the settling yen notes, making his sub-machine gun’s laser dot flicker from the wall to some point just a few meters away.

Morgana shouted from somewhere in the dark, “Panther, stay where you are! Rider, can you pick up Joker?”

“Where are you?” She shouted from his right.

Yen notes scattered behind him and Akira whipped around, letting out a short burst concealed by his sub-machine gun’s suppressor. Whatever was there dashed away, knocking two gold bars together. The distraction was still enough to cause Shesa to dissipate, leaving Akira feeling naked and vulnerable to at least two new Shadow minions. “Right here.” Taking his finger out of the trigger well, he waved his sub-machine gun in her direction, hoping she’d either spot his laser or the dot it projected. “I’m holding position right here.” He summoned High Pixie and the Persona as small as a regular person floated above him, though something seemed to sap at the light that used to glint from its translucent wings.

Red flames flickered underneath Makoto as Johanna formed underneath her, the red tracery and steel plating even more intimidating in the darkness. The transparent canopy finishing just in time to cast aside a flying sickle on a chain. Her wheels blazed as she raced at Akira, and the transfer student backed up a step when she came to a stop just a few centimeters away. She dismissed her Persona, then spun around when something dashed through the notes piled over the floor, her shotgun braced against her shoulder just like Ryuji taught her.

She startled when Akira backed up against her, sweeping his sub-machine gun left and right to try to get that dot jump indicating something closer than the wall.

The cone from Ann’s gun-light spilled over a black silhouette, humanoid as the other oni but wearing black, shrouding clothing just a little loose at the arms and legs. A close-fitting hood concealed the head. She pulled the trigger and followed it, three shots piercing its torso before it escaped her light. A fourth shot rang out, passing just above Akira’s head.

He dropped to the ground. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! I’m right here!”

“Sorry!” Ann called, going back to her jerky back-and-forth search.

“Okay,” Morgana shouted from the spot where Ann’s gun-light cast its cone. “I’m going to transform and pick you guys up.”

His red dot flickered and Akira squeezed off a burst.

Something scuttled away from the dot-jump point, and five or so meters to his left. “But we can’t fight from inside you.”

“It’s not ideal,” Morgana called back. “But once we’re together we can focus on fighting the Shadows and less on avoiding shooting each other.” A pop echoed in the darkness and two cones of light shone out across the space, one headlamp revealing Kaneshiro rubbing his hands against each other and the other a crouching oni wrapped in black clothing.

Makoto and Akira both opened fire on the oni holding a sickle on a chain in one hand, and the weighted end of the chain in the other, one of the shots striking it in the head and sending it sprawling to the ground, leaking smoke. Makoto shot it another two times before it dissipated.

Heavy footsteps over loose notes drew Akira’s attention to his right. They scuttled away before he could figure out quite where they were, but before he had the chance to complain, Morgana pulled up in his bus form and the side door slid open. Ann hopped out, her gun-light waving back and forth. The three students came back to back and Morgana hopped onto Akira’s shoulder, crossbow at the ready.

Ann jerked, tensing against him before she called, “Carmen!”

Morgana summoned Zorro an instant later, but by then the sneaky oni was lost to the darkness.

Shadow Kaneshiro laughed from somewhere in the dark.

Heart hammering in his chest, Akira scrambled for something to give them the upper hand. “What’s wrong, Junjun? Doesn’t this remind you of sneaking into your uncle’s office to steal the deed to blue street in Shibaura?”

Kaneshiro roared. “I had no choice! I had to pay those Hashiba bastards with something. My uncle wouldn’t have lifted a finger to help me.”

Akira’s lips pressed into a thin line and he muttered, “Sounds familiar.”

His laser dot jumped, and he pulled the trigger.

His companions spun around, Ann’s gun-light casting white over the black-clad oni holding another kusari-gama. While they blasted it with gunfire, he summoned Pillar.

Darkness didn’t even make it flinch, and the Shadow leaped through the gloom at Pillar, slashing through the churning swirl of dark and fire. Akira collapsed to the floor, clutching his chest.

When he fell, Makoto growled and leaped forward, Johanna forming underneath her before rocketing over the floor at the Ongyo-Ki.

It shot into the darkness, its sickle smashing into the back end of Johanna followed by a chained iron weight the size of Akira’s head.

Her Persona dissipated into flames and she tumbled, skidding through yen notes carpeting the ground in uneven piles. The sound of her bones colliding with gold bars rang twice.

Despite the flames of Pillar of Heaven, Akira couldn’t see more than a few meters past it, so the group lowered their guns and rushed over to Makoto.

His dot jumped, and Akira pulled the trigger. Something dashed over mounds of yen notes, but he heard Shadow Kaneshiro grunt in pain.

Makoto summoned Johanna and lobbed a ball of fire towards the same general area he blasted his gun at, the ball itself only striking the yen on the ground but the explosion catching Shadow Kaneshiro, who leaped away with a buzz.

That sound was all Akira needed to lob fire from Pillar of Heaven. Carmen joined in with ice, but it wasn’t until Morgana cried out that Akira realized he’d forgotten about the team’s leader.

“Help him!” Makoto snapped, keeping her eyes on Kaneshiro, Johanna pulsing bolt after bolt of fire at him as he buzzed back and forth in the darkness.

Akira picked up their panting leader, who gave a thankful nod. Morgana looked out into the darkness, where Shadow Kaneshiro faded, then to Akira. “I’ve got a plan, but you need to hold back until they take the bait. You’re our wild card, the only one Kaneshiro and his minions can’t prepare for.”

Akira nodded.

Morgana loaded bolts into his crossbow’s magazine. “This new minion doesn’t seem to have a weakness to any of our elements, so you need to hit it with your strongest fighter. Leave Kaneshiro to us until that damn ninja Shadow is dead.” Akira gave a grim nod, then Morgana leaped to his own two feet with a roar, summoning Zorro and using his psychokinesis to pick up and fling gold bars after the flying monstrosity. “Everyone else, throw everything you two have at the Palace Ruler! Focus on him!”

Akira settled back, straining to hear above the sound of gold bars clinking against the vault walls and either ice or fire exploding.

He spotted the Shadow oni with a kusari-gama charge into Makoto and Johanna a fraction of a second too late to stop it from powering a blow into the mask on the armored front of the tank-like motorcycle. Johanna disintegrated into red flames.

Makoto screamed as she tumbled through the air, skidded over piles of yen, then into Ann, knocking her over.

The oni shrouded in black turned on Zorro, but Akira was already calling on his newest Persona and channeling all of his fury into it. All of the impulsive power of Caroline and merciless precision of Justine. “Yaksha! Tempest Slash!”

His own purple-skinned oni formed behind the larger black-shrouded one, a barbed, forward-curving sword held each hand. Her long black hair shifted as she lifted her swords and powered a chop down into the Ongyo-Ki’s back, reverse-slashed upwards, left, right, then down through its back again. The ninja dissipated into smoke.

Ann’s gun-light fell over Shadow Kaneshiro again, the Shadow on all six limbs. When something on his chitinous wrist glinted, Makoto pointed, “There, that bracelet! The real one never wore anything on his hands.”

“Just like Kamoshida’s crown,” Morgana said with a smirk, before launching at the gold loop clinging to the monstrous limb. Locking his crossbow’s bayonet out, he thrust it between the gold bracelet and corpse-white exoskeleton, and twisted with all his might.

The bracelet cracked, black tendrils reaching out to continue grasping for Kaneshiro’s arm. Hissing whispers slithered through the air before a ball of ice hit him in the limb and exploded, flinging shards of ice.

The bracelet snapped off.

Shadow Kaneshiro wailed as the lights flipped back on. The monstrous boss slid back down to his knees as smoke gushed from every cut and blow through the fight. His height dwindled, his face shrank back down to the rounded human one, and at last a Kaneshiro in tattered pants and the ragged remains of a silk tuxedo jacket looked up at them. The spinning sub-vault door came to a stop and drifted open.

Kaneshiro ran to it, throwing his arms wide. “No, you can’t! Black Mask already takes anything he wants from other people’s hearts. This is _my_ money!”

Akira snarled. “_Stolen_ from the people of Shibuya!”

Makoto stepped closer, wincing but keeping her shotgun trained on him. “_Innocent_ people.”

Tears streamed down Kaneshiro’s face. “B…but without it, I’m just another one of those ugly, weak fools. Weak people can’t have happiness.” The yakuza boss’s lips trembled. “We can’t even feel safe.”

Akira glanced at his sub-machine gun, noting the bolt locked forward again. Well, maybe the Shadow wouldn’t notice it. He pointed his gun. “You think you can play the victim when you’ve been making thousands of people suffer? You’re even worse than the people who made _you_ afraid when you were a teenager trying to show his uncle how smart he was.”

Ann held her gun out at him, trembling despite both hands on her pistol. “You surrounded yourself with people who only cared about money, and _now_ you have the gall to act afraid that the people around you will treat you badly because you don’t have enough money?”

Kaneshiro looked up at the standing Phantom Thieves forming a semicircle around him. “Where else did I belong?”

Makoto lowered her shotgun. “Where you make for yourself. The only right thing is to spend the rest of your life paying atonement in money _and_ other ways. Even if you have to _beg_ for forgiveness.”

Kaneshiro looked over the four. “With all your power, with all the Palaces you could loot, or even better extort… how could you give up the chance to make _bank_? How much is justice worth if nobody can afford the bill?”

Akira lowered his sub-machine gun. “Only if the single way you measure the world is money. Some people live to safeguard their family, to give their children a quiet place to lie down and sleep without nightmares. That can’t happen when everybody is running around sucking money without care for what it does to others’ hearts or lives.”

“Yeah!” Morgana said. “Now go back to your real self and set your debtors free. Stop covering for those other yakuza thugs. Make up for what you’ve done. If you can do that, you’ll have a place even if you _don__’__t_ have money.”

Kaneshiro stared at the messy piles of yen and gold carpeting the floor for a long moment before he nodded. His shoulders slumped as he faded away.

“Come on,” Akira shouted as he threw open the sub-vault door.

Morgana leaped past him and for a moment the transfer student thought he was going to help before the catboy clamped onto a wheel controlling the money press and rubbed his face on it. “Treasure,” he purred.

Ann rushed in, yanked Morgana off, and threw him to the ground still strewn with piles of yen notes, gold bars, and the occasional glint of some gemstone. “Come on, let’s load it and get out before the Palace collapses!”

Bracing against the side of the subvault door, Makoto’s eyes widened under her mask. “_Collapses_?”

A bolt pinged out of the iron girders above and the bank groaned around them.

Ann’s face flushed underneath her mask and she let out a nervous laugh. “Oh, uh. Did we forget to mention that?”

Akira and Ann surged for the Treasure and Morgana popped back into the catbus for a mad dash out of the bank.


	45. June 2nd, Family Doc

Persona 5: Daywatch

Thursday, 2 June 2016  
Evening  
Shibuya, Station Square

The Phantom Thieves stumbled into the writhing mass of humanity streaming to and from Shibuya Station. Next to him, Makoto tripped, her foot twisting and her hands thrown wide in a vain attempt to catch herself. When Akira grabbed her arm to help her, she yelped and pulled away.

Ann came to a stop next to them, dragging a gold briefcase. “You okay?”

Glancing out at the others, Makoto accepted Akira’s help to her feet, though still let slip a pained grimace. “I don’t think anything’s broken.”

A yowl shot through the crowd, then Morgana dashed through the swift movement of the crowd’s legs. His eyes came to a stop on the gold briefcase, though his tail remained high and twitching. “Oh, good, you guys have the Treasure.” He paused to look up and around. “Too many eyes. We should find a private place to open it up and find out exactly what his Treasure is.”

Akira glanced at the student council president leaning on him, her eyes squinted in pain. “First thing we should do is get you to the doctor.”

Morgana’s ears twisted this way and that before he sat, looking up at Ann. “Can you keep the Treasure safe for a while?”

Ann nodded. “It’s heavy as hell, but it’s also got rollers so I can drag it home.”

Akira knelt to let Morgana in his school satchel, then offered Makoto an arm and aimed for the train station. The smell of burnt meat wafted through his nostrils and he flinched in disgust. The red sky faded into purple, though with all the lights of the city the throngs walking through the streets seemed more like Shadow silhouettes to him.

Makoto let out a pained wimper, and when he loosened his grip she led the pair to the closest bench she could find. A pair of tourists came up to the statue of Hachiko, snapping photos and chatting as they walked without hesitation into the seething mass of humanity.

Akira pulled his hands away from the upperclassman. “I’m just making things worse, aren’t I?”

She grimaced, holding a hand to her chest. “It’s okay. Despite my own attempts to keep up, I just don’t seem to have it in me to walk the walk.”

He raised an eyebrow, looked through the crowd, then spied the shiba statue and looked back to her. While they sat, he poked into his satchel for the hot compress and gave it to her. “You’re talking about back then, aren’t you?”

Morgana poked his head out of the bag. “Back then?”

“A brief run-in Akira-kun and I had last Sunday.” Pressing the compress against her chest, Makoto nodded. “I’m sorry I was so short with you that day. I made you take valuable time out of your busy schedule to try to find out more about the rest of the student body. I was insulted that you invited me to share your walk and rejected it out of hand because it was… well, almost all your suggestions were illegal. Even if you might not be the representative of the average person yourself, you were still _trying_. And the next time we needed to fight through Kaneshiro’s bank, you set all of what I said aside like it never happened.”

He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have said most of the things I did. You’re being genuine about wanting to understand people better, and ‘it’s what I know’ is _not_ a good excuse when that’s not the kind of Akira I want to be.” His phone buzzed and he pulled it out to check the text. Hifumi sent him a message nearly two hours ago saying she was ready to tutor him. He let out a morose breath and sent back, [Sorry, Togo-san. Had an emergency that couldn't wait.]

Makoto looked away, pink touching her cheeks. “I wasn’t even big enough to give you the benefit of the doubt you automatically gave me. I should’ve known back then you weren’t being totally serious.” She reached her right hand across to offer a handshake, but winced and clutched her torso with her other hand, dropping the hot compress.

He snatched it and pressed it against her back until she could maneuver her arm to hold it. “My old bastard made everyone else walk on eggshells around him, I shouldn’t be repeating his mistakes. I should be helping you. I mean I _will_.” He paused to scrutinize her hunched posture. “You got battered pretty hard by those oni. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve got pulled muscles besides the bruising we all probably took.” He shifted to face her straight-on. “Takemi might have some muscle relaxants and anti-inflammatories.”

A thud drew their attention and Ann picked the gold briefcase back up, at least as much as she could without the strength to get it off its roller-wheels. She looked between the transfer student and president. “You two move fast.”

Eeping, Makoto shot back to a straight sit on the bench. Her angry blush didn’t help her protestation. The hot pack flopped to the bench. “N-no! Nothing of the sort, Takamaki-kun!”

Akira shot his oldest fellow Phantom Thief a flat glare. “I’m trying to make use of my medical knowledge, Ann-san. Looks like we’ll have to stop by the doctor’s.”

“Right, right,” she said with a grin, though her entire posture looked weird due to the golden briefcase not letting her stand straight. “Well, don’t let me interrupt you two.” She paced into the crowd and disappeared through a turnstyle.

“Actually,” Makoto said, coming to her feet with her face twisted with pain. “I think I’ll take you up on that offer to stop by the doctor. I didn’t want to say anything earlier and risk letting Kaneshiro get away, but I may not have been completely over the strains from yesterday.”

“It’s no good burning yourself out,” Akira reproached, helping the president down the stairs and into the train, but when she didn’t retort he let silence hang between them until they passed Leblanc. “Hold up. I need a minute at my place. I promised I would bring the doc some caffeine last time I brought Ann up.” He pushed open the door, but paused when he saw Sojiro look up from polishing mugs. Akira gave a nervous wave. “Uh… Hi. I kind of owe Doctor Takemi a pot of coffee. I accidentally gave her a decaf last time.”

Sojiro set the mug and polishing rag down with a humph. “You’d _better_ not make a mistake like that again. Coffee is our primary item. Oh, and your mistake… your money.”

Akira grimaced, but flinched when he bit his tongue to try to hold down his anger. That was going to bleed for a while longer. He pulled out his wallet, then a few yen notes. “Fine. Can I get the ice pack for Senpai?” He gestured to Makoto, who followed him inside.

The proprietor yanked open the freezer and pulled out a rubber ice pack. “I wondered who put that thing in there.” He tossed it across the counter, quirking an impressed eyebrow when Akira caught it with one hand. Pulling out a battered thermos, he looked at the pair of Shujin students. “I hope you kids aren’t getting involved in anything. Anyway, it’s getting rather late. I’ll be open for a little while, but don’t you have families and dinner to be getting to?”

Makoto’s eyes fell to the table, her fingers tracing minute circles on its surface as her shoulders sank.

Akira leaned against the booth seat opposite the class president. “You worried about getting in trouble for staying out? Real helicopter mom and pop?”

She let out a sigh. “The opposite, really. I don’t even know if Sae would notice me being late. She’s been keeping so busy with work, we hardly talk even when she’s home.”

Sojiro paced down the lane. “I’m sorry to hear that, kiddo. It’s no fun going through life with family too busy to, well, be a family.”

Akira gave him a look askance. “What do you mean, ‘be a family’? Family’s just people related by genes. Everyone’s busy taking care of themselves.”

Sojiro thumped the transfer student in the arm with the filled thermos. “Family’s the core and foundation of every society on earth, kiddo. Now c’mon, if you’re gonna bring a nice girl into a cafe, you commiserate. Say how sorry you are to hear her mom’s busy.”

Snatching the battered thermos with both hands, Akira shot a dirty look at Sojiro. “Why? I’m not the one keepin’ her at the lab.”

Makoto shook her head. “It’s okay. She’s my big sister, though she does have to put up with quite a bit of a burden between her job and taking care of me. I try to do things around the home like cooking, but sometimes I wonder if it’s really enough to make up for it all.”

Sojiro gave the transfer student a light elbowing. “See? Taking on life and rising above the problems with good life skills like mom’s home cooking. Even you did that, I’ve seen you preparing your lunches.”

Akira rolled his eyes. “Nobody was there to teach me, I taught _myself_ how to cook. If I didn’t do it myself, it didn’t get done.”

Morgana sighed from the bag. “Joker…”

Makoto reached out a hand to her fellow Shujin student for help to her feet, but she kept her eyes on his. “Come on, they may not all be good, but everyone’s mom does at least _some_ cooking.”

Akira gave her a flat look. “No, _not_ everyone’s mom cooks. I don’t think mine so much as set foot in a kitchen. The best thing she ever did for me was locking me out that August night when I met Big K.” He tugged his school jacket straight, a small wince escaping his control. “Come on, let’s get you to the doc.”

His phone buzzed, but when she drew hers as well, he guessed that it was the group chat. He pointed to the door. “I’ll join you guys in chat later. Doctor first.”

Leaving the lukewarm compress, she leaned on his support out of Leblanc, but slowed down before reaching the main lane. The searching look she gave him raised his hackles, but she continued heedless. “You really…don’t have _any_ moments with your mother that you cherish? No favorite books or dishes she introduced you to?”

Akira picked up the pace. “Why is it that everyone thinks a mother is some fantasy wish-giving thing? Moms are people just like all the other self-interested people out there. Hell, mine wasn’t even into family holidays. The only time I remember her and the old bastard under the same roof was for some gala with rich bigwigs they wanted to show off to.”

“Oh.” Makoto looked down, shamefaced for some reason as her pace slowed. “Your parents are separated. I’m sorry.”

He gave her an arched eyebrow. “Why? You didn’t do it. And them livin’ separate places was the only thing that gave me hope I’d get away from the old bastard.”

Makoto looked to his face, but her gaze fell the instant their eyes met. “My mom was kind of busy – she kept up her job at the county clerk’s office, but she did things with us every day. Taught Sae and I to cook and how to keep food warm for those nights dad was late. She was even going to teach me how to sew, but I always ended up too busy with studying to take her up on it before she died.”

He let out a long breath, but took the moment to think. “I guess I remember Big K sayin’ his ma did the same thing for him.” He paused to open the door to the Takemi Medical Clinic. “The most I can do is replace buttons and patches for holes in a pocket.” He set the battered thermos on the window, declaring from deep in his belly, “I come bearing coffee.”

Takemi looked at Makoto, still leaning on his right arm. “And more bruises, I’m sure.” She reached for the thermos. “You kids need to find a safer hobby.”

Akira feigned horror. “And give up parkour? Where will we get our running exercise?”

The doctor gave him a bored stare for several seconds before she unscrewed the cap and poured a cup of coffee. “So which one first?”

“You—” Makoto began.

“No, you’re actually hurt. I just got bumped a bit.” Gesturing Makoto to the exam room, Akira sat down in the lobby and checked the group chat to find out what the buzzing earlier was about. Ann and Ryuji had been discussing the battle against Kaneshiro, then speculating what was inside the gold briefcase.

Morgana popped up to read along. “Tell them not to break anything. You have a light touch, and it took you weeks to master the tension wrench.”

Akira smirked, taking it for as much praise as he could expect. “You have high standards.” Settling back into the chair, he added his own prediction, [500 yen it's only got IOUs.]

Ryuji shot back. [Dude, you're totally spoiling the mood. Did you even snatch any cash while I wasn't in there?]

[Kinda had other priorities, Ryuji,] the transfer student sent.

Ann texted, [Yes, we all took cognitive money out. I'm kind of scared to try spending it, even though it looks the same as regular money.] After a moment, she added, [Makoto mentioned stopping at Leblanc on the way to Doctor Takemi. Is everything okay, Akira?]

[She's in with the doc at the moment. And it's probably smart not to go throwing his money around, it might share numbers with notes already in circulation.]

Ryuji sent, [Prez will be fine. Her Persona's like a motorcycle tank.]

Akira straightened in his seat when he heard the exam doorknob rotate. [Catch you all at school tomorrow.]

Friday, 3 June 2016  
After School  
Shujin, Class 2-D

Finishing the essay for literature class, Akira capped his pen and looked up. Only two other students remained, also getting a head-start on homework. Having no idea if they were paying attention, he whispered, “Where’d Ann go?”

Morgana cracked open an eye, tip of his tail twitching. “She went with your class representative.” He blinked, his eyes narrowing. “Somebody needs to keep an eye on them.”

Akira set the last book into his satchel. “Please tell me you’re not going to sabotage our best infobroker,” he whispered. “He’s her friend.” That being said, Ann still seemed off since last week. With no clue whether she straightened things out with Mishima, after letting the team leader slip into his school bag, Akira stood up and headed for the Phantom Thieves’ meeting location.

Wrist brace still restricting his motion, he opened the door to the roof with his left hand. Ann’s voice and pacing came to a swift halt and she looked up from her rain-stained seat. An awkward energy crackled in the air. Mishima leaned back against the fence, slipping his hands in his pockets, eyes falling from Ann to the planters with tomato stalks.

After letting out a frustrated breath, Ann took a deep breath to steady her breathing. “Sorry about taking so long, Akira. I was just trying to figure out something about guys with Yuuki.”

Well, Akira never claimed to be a good source for anything. “Sorry I’m not much help. I wasn’t even the one who found Kaneshiro’s name.”

Ann rolled her eyes and flicked one pigtail off her shoulder. “_Men_. You’re all goddamn impossible.” She threw her hand out. “Why are you guys always trying to pick up the whole Earth like nobody else is there to carry it too?”

Morgana popped up out of the satchel. “It’s a complicated world out there, Lady Ann. I was thinking of gathering the Phantom Thieves to go after more Shibuya thugs in Mementos, but I’d be _happy_ to teach you how _real gentlemen_ think.”

Akira set his satchel on the nearby desk. “Might as well give it a try. Even if he’s weird himself, he’s spent a long time in the Metaverse. That should mean insights to how people’s subconscious works.”

Her eyes flicked to the class representative, narrowing for a long moment before twitching back to Akira’s. Ann let out a sigh. “Fine. I need some chocolate anyway.”

Morgana’s tail swished and he smirked up at the transfer student. “I’ll see _you_ back at Leblanc.” Tail held high, he hopped into Ann’s offered bag and they departed.

Akira shrugged, but Mishima’s eyes followed Ann until the door closed. When it thumped the door frame, he dragged his eyes to the baby plants and wiped at the shamed blush on his cheeks. “C…could we talk?”

Akira brushed off and set up another chair at the corner of the desk closest to Mishima. Akira plopped into the other seat. “Step into my office.”

When Mishima only sat down with a quirk at the corner of his mouth, the transfer student knew things were serious. People loved to groan. After fiddling with his hands for a moment, he still couldn’t look any closer to Akira than the desk. “You said before that you’re Catholic, right? What’s the Church say about loyalty?”

Akira fumbled in his pocket for a microfiber cloth. “Loyalty is all _all over_ the Bible. The First Commandment is to be loyal to God first, that everything comes after Him.” He took off his glasses to wipe the lenses. “To be honest, it’s damn hard. Humans are hardwired to think of ourselves first. Perceptually, each individual _is_ the center of his universe. Your self is where all your information comes from.”

Mishima’s fidgeting with his hands was large enough for the transfer student to see despite not having his glasses on. “What about if you made a promise? Like, to always be there for someone.” Glasses back on, Akira could see Mishima’s fingers grip the sides of his chair hard enough to make the knuckles turn white. “I promised Shiho I’d do anything for her. That I’d always be there for her, for the rest of my life.” He gulped down a breath. “And since Shiho was such good friends with Ann… I never thought that would complicate anything.”

Akira put away his cleaning cloth. “You and Ann get into a fight?”

Mishima let go of the chair and wrapped his arms around himself. “Worse than that. I…” He drew in a shuddering breath. “I took advantage of her. She was so disgusted with me she ran. We couldn’t even talk about it today. If you could call it talking at all.”

Akira scratched his scalp. His story sounded rather different from Ann’s. “Walk me through it. Where’d this start?”

Staring away, his finger traced nervous circles in the desk top. “Class just ended, and Ann wanted to talk. She was telling me about how you guys just got into that yakuza boss’s mind palace. I’ve always been such a boat anchor on everyone else, I just wanted you guys to have one less thing you have to worry about.” He drew in a shuddering breath. “But I couldn’t even do that. She started saying something angry…”

His breath rattled, his eyes glistening. “I smelled that peach-scented shampoo like Shiho always used to use and leaned in, and felt her hand on my knee.” Mishima jerked in his seat, his bloodshot eyes locked on Akira’s. “For a second I didn’t even remember it wasn’t Shi-chan I was kissing …” A tear slipped out.

Akira scratched his scalp. “Mishima-san, I’ve never had a girlfriend. And my family gave me little but bad examples. I feel like this whole issue is something I’m uniquely unqualified to help with. If I tell you that you screwed up, I feel like I’m sounding like my dick-head old bastard who loved putting people down when they were doing their best. If I say you’re just two peeps looking for warmth in each other, that sounds like my mother making excuses.” He spread his hands. “_None_ of it sounds right, but I don’t even know what it’s like to have _one_ person to go to. Much less _two_.”

Mishima stood up, knocking his chair to the ground. “Would _you_ cheat on someone you promised to be with forever?”

A cold settled over his body and Akira folded his hands in his lap. Was it even right for someone like him to _want_ someone like that? With all his problems? Akira pushed his glasses up to rub the bridge of his nose. Mishima needed help now. “No, but… I think Ann trusts you even more than me. I seriously doubt she’s angry _at_ you so much as worried _for_ you.” He straightened his glasses.

The class representative stared, though something changed in his visage. Whatever it was, Mishima wiped at his face and stood with a stony expression. “You’re right.”

Akira extended a hand to help his class representative to his feet. “Come on, let’s get a couple cans of TaP and tea.”

Friday, 3 June 2016  
Evening  
Shibuya, Ore no Beko Beef Bowl

Akira clasped his hands behind his back and nodded at the manager still prattling on about timeliness. He bit his tongue to keep from snapping back about how meaningless ten minutes was. That the manager saw him coming from the arcade only made him angrier. No point arguing that he ducked into the arcade to escape from the crowds, not play games.

“We need people who put the business _first_. If you can’t take your duty to Ore no Beko properly,” the balding man shouted, “then you can take your lackadaisical attitude and find somebody _else_. This is your last paycheck.”

The door from the kitchen swung open and one of the college-aged workers rushed to desk for the box of paper towels underneath. “Another party of four ordering Huo Guo Rou bowls, boss.”

Baldie growled, but yanked on an apron and stormed through the door.

College Kid looked at the transfer student with a half-suppressed wince. “Don’t take what he says personally, he’s one of them managers stuck on how things used to be in nineteen-eighty.” He tossed the roll of paper towel from hand to hand. He gave a show smile, though it strained a little wider than his genuine emotion. “You could always put his name on the Phansite. Have the Phantom Thief take away his bad management style.”

Akira adjusted his glasses. “You’re a believer in the Phantom Thief?”

College Kid’s smile relaxed. “Dude, I _know_ he exists.” The smile dimmed a little. “Can you keep a secret?”

Akira picked up his school satchel, noting the team leader snoozing in it. “Yep.”

College Kid’s smile brightened again. “I’ve been clean since May thanks to the Phantom Thief. I thought I was on my way out of _everythin__’_ in life until Marai – my dealer – had a change of heart.”

Akira’s hands tightened on the satchel straps.

College Kid held up his hands. “No, really. Like that coach change of heart. Went ‘round apologizin’ to all of us he was cuttin’ his stuff for, then turned himself in the next day.” College Kid threw his hands wide. “It’s like _everything_ in my life is better. I could show up to work every day and Old Fogie,” he gestured at the kitchen, “stopped hasslin’ me. I’m studyin’ every mornin’ and I think I’m even gonna pass my last finals.” He threw a friendly jab at the transfer student’s shoulder, only for Akira to dance a step back out of reach.

“Well… good for you, but now I gotta figure out a new way to take care of myself,” he said, returning to the streets crammed with assholes. He hung back at the train station, sending a text to Hifumi just in case she had time.

[Sorry, busy on an errand today.]

Hope dashed, Akira took to the trains packed like sardines, until getting to the blissfully quiet back streets of Yongen. Despite the relative silence – as much as Tokyo ever seemed to get – his mind still buzzed. Why couldn’t he even come up with a straight, simple answer for Mishima?

Knowing he wouldn’t be getting to sleep any time soon, Akira browsed the back roads for a bit, stopping at Hiromasa’s second-hand shop. He eyed the electric guitar for a little while, but despite juvenile fantasies he knew he couldn’t play and it would just collect dust in the loft. With Shujin remaining a hostile environment and no good bookstores yet to lounge in, he had to have local options. “How big is that CRT?”

Hiromasa leaned on his cane and followed the transfer student’s gaze to the larger old-style television sitting on an antique table in the back of the shop. “Oh, that’s a 32-type. Bought that from the Suzukis when they moved out of the flats more’n a year ago.” He pointed to the small apartment building between the supermarket and walled houses where he first tried looking for Sojiro. “Nice couple. Moved out when his girlfriend got pregnant and they had to get married. It works fine, but I’m sure a youngun like you wouldn’t be interested in such a clunker.”

Akira fumbled to pull his wallet out with his one good hand. “I would if it came with a digital converter. I’ve got the budget of a student with a part-time job, not a parent making five hundred thousand yen a year.”

The old man rubbed his chin. “Tell you what. If you really want to buy the TV, I’ll order a new digital converter and have it delivered to you.” His eyes fell to the velcroed tension brace on the transfer student’s wrist. “I’ll even have someone deliver the TV.”

“Sounds like a deal,” Akira said, pulling out the yen and taking a signed receipt from the old man.

Business done, Akira headed into Leblanc. The high-pitched jingling from the bell hit his ears like a spike. He sat down at the bar and picked lint out of the velcro on the wrist brace Takemi gave him yesterday.

Rhythmic chopping at a wood cutting board greeted him, Sojiro keeping his eyes on a half-cut apple. “You’re back early. Aren’t you working at that beef bowl place now?”

Setting his school bag against a stool, Akira drew the journal and sat, then started summarizing the portions he didn’t mind social services finding out about. “They fired me. Said I had too little availability. I was a few minutes late.” He fidgeted with his hands. “I ducked into the arcade to get a breath away from the crowd, and the boss thought I was messing around in there.” He spat at the ground.

Sojiro’s knife stilled and he looked the transfer student over, eyes coming to rest on the hand still wrapped up in a black wrist brace. “I’m sorry to hear that. Some managers can lose touch with the life their workers are living.” Instead of going back to cutting, he held the boy’s gaze for an uncomfortable second. “Do you feel like you’re starting to get used to the Tokyo crowds?”

Akira shook out his right hand, then flinched when the rapid motion caused a spike of pain through his forearm. “Not really.” He looked down at his journal, seeing the half-written sentence about playing Gun About with Makoto. With him and Ryuji, it was all training, a race to the elusive goal of perfection. Makoto, the girl he thought was born with a stick up her ass, threw herself into the activity and laughed. He’d forgotten it was a game. “You ever have someone that you’re completely certain about, you put her in some box, and then the situation changes or maybe just a new day starts and you realize you were way off base?”

He expected Sojiro to snark back at him or throw some back-in-my-day platitude, but instead the middle-aged businessman set his knife on the cutting board and braced his hands on the counter beside it. “I do wonder some times. Then dupes like Isshiki’s brother just restore my faith in first impressions. That ever happen when you met an aunt or—no, right, Doctor Kurusu didn’t have any siblings.” He picked up the knife and slid the cubed apple into a metal bowl. “Do you?”

“No.”

Sojiro straightened. “Cousins? Anything?”

Clenching his teeth, Akira lifted his fountain pen from the journal. “If I _had_ any family to go to, don’t you think I’d have gone their way years ago?” Thinking back to his first day in Tokyo, he remembered Sojiro insinuating he only took him in as a favor to Isshiki. “Was that a big thing for Isshiki? I didn’t see her all that often. The old bastard _really_ didn’t like her.”

Sojiro chuffed in a manner that left it unclear if he was amused or just contemplating a distant memory. “Hm. She never talked much about him.”

Akira chuckled.

“What?” Sojiro paused, arm raised to a shelf of spices.

Akira lifted his fountain pen away from the journal. “There’s something satisfying about the idea that the old bastard wasted hours of his life hating a person who barely knew he existed.” He drummed his fingers on the counter. “Why _did_ you choose to take me in? I know you were never that close to my old bastard, even if his money’s good enough.”

Sojiro set down a pair of cylindrical metal containers with their contents labeled on tape. “Well, Isshiki mentioned you. Saw you at the institute a couple times and said she was worried about you, so I guess there’s a bit of last wishes there. That and Officer Ichijou asked me to give you a safe roof to live under. Kid came here a lot while she was attending police academy, and she knew I wasn’t using the loft. No idea how she got Doctor Kurusu to go along with it, though.” He pulled out a thin rubber sheet to help grip the metal cylinder’s lid. “It’s a pity you never had much of a family life growing up. It changes your outlook. Helps you define yourself.”

Akira scratched down the rest of his daily entry. “Yeah. Constantly bumming off your hard work. Blaming you for tracking mud in the house when your jerkass little sister was the one who did it. Going into debt and putting you on the hook for it. Doing something stupid that gets _you_ fired.” He capped his pen. “I heard all about what family’s like from other people. No thanks.”

Frowning, Sojiro pulled a set of long metal measuring spoons from a drawer under the counter. “There’s plenty of things that families do besides that. Teaching you to shop so you’re not taken in by disingenuous advertisements, or budget so you’re not dependent on others to do your accounting for you. Helping cover for you when you’re sick. Taking trips to the beach.”

Akira snorted and glanced up at the pale restaurateur. “When’s the last time _you__’__ve_ gone to the beach with a girl?”

Sojiro jerked, spilling some yellow powder from a mounded measuring spoon all over the counter. “Dammit! Look what you made me do!”

Blinking, Akira wondered why _that_ of all things made the middle-aged playboy angry.

Something patting at his leg drew his gaze to the floor where Morgana sat. “It sounds like this conversation’s going nowhere. We’ll have an opportunity to go into Mementos tomorrow to clean up more of Kaneshiro’s mafia. You should get some rest.”

Akira flipped the journal closed and headed up to his room. When his mind refused to slow down, he sat at the desk, trying to stay ahead of studying.


	46. June 4th, Increasing Tally

Persona 5: Daywatch

Saturday, 4 June 2016  
After School  
Shujin, Front Gate

Akira waved good-bye to Ann as she jogged through the crowd to the station. He felt a pang of disappointment at not being able to spend more time with the second person to really believe in him since arriving in Tokyo, but she had a job and it would have been selfish to jeopardize that. He adjusted the school satchel hiding Morgana and kept a steady march next to Mishima until Alliance Force Assemble sang out of his phone.

Pausing to give the class representative a wave goodbye, Akira peeled off to the inner edge of the sidewalk to answer. “Appointments and scheduling, Stu Early.”

The blissful sound of Hifumi chuckling floated out of his phone. “I’ll take that as the right number this time. You’re certainly the joker.”

From his satchel, Morgana grumped, “It’s getting hard to tell if that means you’ve broken cover like Reaper’s always doing or not.”

Akira scratched the nape of his neck, his face heating in embarrassment and his eyes averting despite not having anyone to look at. “Sorry. Old habits.”

An undercurrent of suppressed laughter wove through her tone. “Despite your jocular nature, you never demeaned me and my embarrassing habit during games. To be honest, after the initial shock wore off, I liked how you picked it up and used that same passion yourself.” She cleared her throat. “But to the point, cram school today’s been canceled due to teacher illness. I promised to help you with math, but mother’s been keeping me so busy I couldn’t spare an hour earlier in the week. Would you like to study together?”

“Y-yeah,” he said, his heartbeat speeding up. He mentally kicked himself for throwing out such a lame, casual answer. Ryuji may have been laid-back enough to accept that, but Hifumi was too smart and proper. “I mean yes. Definitely.”

“There’s a table in Ueno Park. Papa would stop there and we would practice before he had a match.”

Akira slid the call to one side to bring up the map function. “Ueno Park… so… the place next to the flea market?” He didn’t want to come out and say he didn’t want to meet in public places, that might make him sound like a creep. But between the press of crowds and the noise, he didn’t look forward to meeting someone unless it could be a more sedate, secluded place. “There a good, quiet place around?”

She hummed, and though the traffic helicopter circling above his head made it hard to hear he thought he heard her humming play through musical notes. “It might be harder to find such a place that also has table space for books. I-is that all right?”

Akira worked his jaw, feeling his mouth go dry at being put on the spot. “You’re the one taking time to tutor me. I’ll make time.”

She let out a short giggle. “You’re certainly easier to work with than the photographers and wardrobe mother schedules me with.” She fed him some directions and he took the train.

Ueno Park

With the sun still up, it took much less time to push his way through flea market to a series of court of eateries and food carts. It took only a minute to find the girl with prim posture and the red knot in her hair. Her blazer shone blue in the daylight, the bright colors a stark difference from the masses of people throughout Tokyo all dressing like they didn’t want to be noticed. Just before he could greet her, his phone buzzed. He left it to focus on the girl he came to see. Akira bowed, “Queen Togo?”

She jerked in her seat, looking up at him with wide eyes, shoulders shooting up and a touch of pale on her cheeks before the deep green of her eyes locked onto his. Her pink lips twisted into a smile and she closed the news article on her phone. “Akira-kun. You took a little while.”

Setting down his satchel, Akira took the seat across the corner of the steel grate table next to her. “Thanks for waiting.” He tapped Morgana. “I need my math book, your highness.”

Morgana stretched before he hopped out. “It’s not _my_ fault the train rides are long.”

Hifumi stood and leaned to look around the corner of the table, then clapped her hands together with a bright smile. “Your school lets you bring your pet? That’s so cute!” A distant quality entered her gaze. “I pictured you as a dog person, though.”

Morgana’s tail stood straight up, the tip twitching. “I am _not_ some pet. Tell her, Joker!”

His phone buzzed. Akira gave the team leader an arched eyebrow before pulling out his notes and homework with one hand. He spared a moment to look at his phone to see Ann, Ryuji, and Makoto speculating on what was in the gold briefcase Ann still had stashed under her bed. He spared a moment to text them that he was busy with a tutor today and slipped his phone back in his jacket.

Hifumi tore out a sheet of paper and clicked her pen open. “Let’s start by finding out exactly where you stand.”

Early Evening  
Ueno Park

Dotting the last sentence, Akira flipped through his new pages of math. “Yeesh. These are more notes than I’ve taken over _days_ of class.”

Hifumi brushed eraser dust from the papers in front of her, her posture as prim as ever. “Examples to put the theory to practice are necessary for retention.” She dropped her pencil in a pencil case and tilted her head at him. “Doesn’t your math teacher go over examples like this?”

Akira flopped back in his chair with a disgusted sound. “Usami-sensei wanted to be a software engineer. She is _constantly_ using weird computer examples that make no goddamn sense to me.”

Hifumi said nothing, but something about the cant of her shoulders and attentive but neutral look in her face made him wonder if she didn’t believe him. “Well, you are sounding a little spent, so let’s take a break. Hone your mind on something else.”

Akira felt his heart rate rise and a grin split his face. “Anywhere, any time.”

She shared a smile leaving a hint of teeth, reached into her school bag, then drew and set up a shogi board. The firm but sedate girl transformed into the impassioned queen. Like all the rest of their games, her magical kingdom chased his robot army around the board and smashed them. “Checkmate.”

A small yawn floated out of his schoolbag, followed by the sound of tiny jaws clicking together.

Akira smiled. “Your highness has deigned fit to join the land of the living.”

Morgana held out a paw. “Guess how many claws I have, just for you.”

Hifumi leaned to get a better view of him and giggled. “I guess it must be interesting owning a cat.” Piano notes emanated from her phone and she pulled it out.

Morgana’s tail stuck straight up. “Nobody owns me, and this isn’t my natural form.”

Akira looked his rival and tutor in her deep green eyes, the spark of a queen still burning within them. “One more match?”

She tilted her head, lips pressing together in an attempt to show haughty impatience, but the corners of her lips turned up. She checked her phone and her shoulders fell. “I would love to, Akira-kun, but mother already booked a venue.”

He pulled out his wallet. Her eyes squinted and the muscles in her neck tensed, but he couldn’t think of a way to press her about her running to something she hated. “Fair enough. How much do I owe you for the…” Akira glanced at his phone, “two hours?”

Finishing packing up her game, her eyes had the wideness of surprise when she looked back at him. “Oh, you don’t have to pay.”

His features hardened and an unpleasant tension seeped into every muscle in his body. “Yes, I do. You’re taking time to share your expertise with me. A man shouldn’t take what he does not contribute to.” He drew a five thousand yen note, then another. “Five thousand an hour?”

Hifumi’s pretty lips thinned. Her deep green eyes hardened. She held up a hand to ward off the money, but gears whirled behind her eyes for long seconds, her eyes twitching back and forth in the subtle movements he knew of a person arguing with herself. “I…” Her jaws clenched together. At last, she snatched the notes. “I suppose this is a better way of contributing to household financing than those interviews.”

He was about to ask what that meant when she hefted her school bag and walked into the crowd coming and going from the flea market with the same bold confidence as Ann or Ryuji. It took several minutes longer for Akira to brave the same action.

Saturday, 4 June 2016  
Evening  
Yongen, Leblanc

The bell rang out from the corner of the door as Akira strode into the small cafe. The transfer student paused just past the door when he spotted Sojiro wiping crumbs from one of the booth tables.

Sojiro glanced up, crumbs in his cupped hand. “Oh, it’s you. Good, my back’s killing me. I’m calling it a night early. I need to sit back if I’m going to be in condition to make dinner.”

Akira pointed at the limited kitchen. “You don’t just sit back and grab a plate of curry?”

The restaurateur came to a stop at the compost bin and brushed his hands clean. “Curry’s… not always an option. Oh!” He jerked a thumb beneath the counter. “Mail delivered a package with your name on it. You can open it as soon as you finish the dishes.”

“Thanks.” After doing the dishes, Akira retrieved the paper-wrapped box and sat down at the counter. It weighed very little, so it couldn’t be his rolling closet kit. He tore off the wrapping to find a box for the board game _Carcassonne_.

With Sojiro gone, Morgana hopped up onto a stool next to Akira and looked over the delivery. “What is it?”

A wide grin spread over Akira’s face, chuckles bubbling out before morphing into laughter. He held up the box as if displaying a trophy. “Soon, victory shall be mine!”

Morgana let out a sigh. “It’s for your math tutor isn’t it? You’re still stuck on her beating you at shogi.”

Akira let out a breath but held the pose. “Really? Not a peep? Not even a chuckle?”

Morgana shook his head, ears flapping. “You really _are_ a joker in every sense. Code names are meant to be a disguise. If I knew yours would be so close on so many levels, I would have picked something more circuitous.”

Akira flashed a wide grin. “You could’ve named me for my _Russian_ tactics, Pikup Andropov.”

Morgana bonked his head on the counter.

Akira took the box in both hands. “You know you love it.”

The guide trapped in cat form rolled his eyes, but the corners of his lips curled up. “As much as life is a fight for you, you always get back up.”

Akira swallowed, feeling a tightness in his throat. He turned for the stairs and started up. “I… It’s nothing.”

Reaching the top of the stairs, Morgana hopped to the table and sat. “That much humility, you _must_ have stolen it from me.” When the transfer student just rubbed the back of his neck, the leader stood. “You really don’t know what to do with a compliment, do you?”

Akira set the box on the workbench. “I’d _like_ to just accept one, but my parents taught me there’s always a string attached. The only time my old bastard would say good job was to see how I would react… and only when I had an EEG strapped to my head.” He sat down on the stool and ran a hand through his hair. “That’s why I let it grow out in middle school.”

Morgana hopped down, then onto the workbench. “Just to make sure, you know your old man was exceptional? And not in a good way?”

Akira opened the box and dug around for the instructions. “A beaten dog knows to avoid the stick, but that doesn’t mean he knows where the dog run is.”

Ear flicking, Morgana gave him a raised eyebrow. “You have something special. Why does it seem that you never want to accept a compliment?” His eyes fell on the tabletop game boxed up in the transfer student’s hands. “Does that have to do with why you hate losing even if it’s a game?”

Akira slumped and folded the instructions back into the box. “I thought you were asleep that whole time.” He closed the box. “I just… everywhere I go, someone’s always better than me. Just _once_ in life, I’d like to have parity. To be _equal_ rather than constantly playing the game of one-upsmanship.”

Morgana stood and shook out a kink in his back, tail flicking. “Think about all we’ve done. You and Nightrider were at each others’ throats, and now you’re both Phantom Thieves. Fighting side by side.” His tail settled into a slow swish. “She even has a motorcycle-shaped Persona. I guess I feel a sense of kinship because I can turn into a car.”

Akira stood there, box in his hands. It had been a while since Morgana talked about who he was or wondered where he came from. “Maybe you’re a Persona?”

Morgana’s tail stood up. “A _person_.” His eyes fell to the side and the tip of his tail switched. “Take… since Nightrider awakened, it’s like there’s been something on the tip of my mind, but I can’t gather enough of it to say it. Something _important_ that I’m supposed to do.” He shook his head, then looked up at Akira. “Something special, like you.”

Akira looked away, feeling heat in his face and a tightness in his throat. He set the box aside and walked to the table set up in front of the couch to collect his homework. “Don’t praise me for being lucky. Luck can run out.”

Morgana hopped up on the couch as the transfer student slid the box under the workbench. “With all the talent we’re collecting, just you wait. And it’s only a matter of time until Kaneshiro’s heart changes.”

Finishing changing, Akira sat down on the bed. “I hope so. There’s a lot of people who will die soon if it doesn’t work.”

Morgana hopped down and paced to the circular cushion Akira set on the bottom of the bookshelf for him. “Hey, Joker?”

Akira slipped under the sheet. “What’s up?”

“Kaneshiro hurt hundreds of people. He had a whole _network_ of people making others suffer.”

Despite the leader’s statements, it sounded like he had a question. “Yeah, those have always been the worst people in history. Not the ones who kill or poison directly, but the ones that set up a network of fear to force others to do the same thing, and typically go on until rot within allows something to crumble them from the outside. The KGB. The Kenpeitai.”

Morgana sat down, eyes distant with thought. “But with so many people to see the terrible things, why doesn’t anyone stop it?”

Akira leaned back, clasping his hands behind his head. “Oof, that’s a complicated one. My old bastard said humans are naturally assholes. Both my parents are case examples, really. Hell, look at us. We went after Kaneshiro in the Metaverse where we have Personas to fight him, but we did everything we could to avoid him in the real world.” He set the _Casserone_ box on the shelf and started changing. “But… I don’t know. That doesn’t feel right. I think that’s part of why I felt so strongly about what Father Motoori said in the intensive care unit of that hospital. He spoke to me about a whole side of humans I never really heard about. I just wish I could be sure that isn’t just another human weakness.”

“Humans are… weak?” Morgana’s ears twitched. “No, that just doesn’t feel right. There’s too much potential. If humans were bad at heart, society would be all horrible all the time. Even if most people just want to get by, that’s still a way better place than everyone wanting bad things.”

“You sound like Father Motoori,” Akira said, pulling the sheet up. “Go to sleep.”

Sunday, 05 June 2016  
Morning  
Kanda Catholic Church

The final benediction came to a close and the parishioners shuffled out. Waiting for the crowd to clear out, Akira read on from the last day’s reading of Jesus interrupting a funeral procession in Nain. After the majority were out of the sanctuary, he stood up.

Hifumi stood there at the second pew, a glint of expectation in her eyes. “Good morning, Akira-kun. Ready for another match between the Legion of Steel and Togo Kingdom?”

His heart shot into the same fast, steady rhythm as when the class lined up at Shujin’s field for sprints. He closed his Bible and set it aside, a wide grin forming as he bowed in his seat. “For Queen Togo? Anywhere, any time.”

A skip to her step, Hifumi sat down and set up a standard game.

Akira straightened his glasses. “No special set-up today?”

Hifumi twitched, her hand dropping the last tile out of place. She snatched it and put the silver general down. “O-oh, I don’t want to make you feel like I’m only exploiting you for my own scenarios. It’s important to give back to something you take from. My father always phrased it, ‘what’s good for the whole is good for the one.’ I thought we’d start with a standard game. U-unless you wanted—”

“No. It’s okay, Togo-san,” Akira said, reaching a hand towards hers but drawing back before getting halfway across the board. He settled back into his regular posture, then glanced at her prim pose and straightened. “You won the last game, so I’ll start with the usual battle droid.” He moved up a pawn.

She set one of her own pawns forward. “Lothlorien’s rangers are at home in the forest.”

A rapid back-and-forth settled, with him capturing almost as many pieces as her until she called check for the second time. He ran a hand through his frizzy hair, trying not to grind his molars. “Well that went as bad as last time.”

Her head tipped forward and lips pressed together just a bit, with an adorable pink pout that refused to let him look away. “Nonsense. You’re more of a challenge every time. It’s clear you’re practicing between our sessions.” She tucked her long, dark hair over her ear, but missed a couple of strands.

The confessional opened and Father Sugiyama stepped out, helping the old man down the stairs to the congregation pews.

Akira couldn’t stop from staring at those two strands of hair. Couldn’t stop thinking how badly he wanted to reach his hand out and brush back those strands. Just imagining touching her made him wonder how soft her skin was.

Heat blossomed over Akira’s face and he jumped to his feet. “S-sorry, Father Sugiyama’s expecting me. Seeyoulater.” He snatched his study Bible and raced to meet the Father lifting the stole off his shoulders.

“Son,” the middle-aged man said with an acknowledging incline of his head. “I hope you weren’t distressed by having to wait.”

“What? N-no, everything’s fine,” Akira blabbed, his heart refusing to slow down and the sensation of heat lingering on his face at the mental picture of brushing his finger across Hifumi’s cheek. Or wondering how it would feel to cup her face with his hands…

He rubbed his head, forcing himself to think back to the problem with Mishima, Ann, and Shiho. “Okay, everything is not fine. But it’s not her fault,” he said, twitching his head back at her without having the guts to look back Hifumi’s way.

Father Sugiyama gave a polite nod and led the transfer student to the side door leading to parish offices. After settling down in front of his desk, Akira clasped his hands and fiddled with his thumbs. “I tried reading about what the Bible said about loyalty, but there was _so much_.” His eyes fell to the floor. “I… what if I met a girl and things got serious? If I promised to always be with her and help her? Then asked her to meet me and stood her up, and she got hurt because she was where I told her to be?”

After leading them into his office, Sugiyama drew a pair of thin-framed spectacles from a case inside his desk and settled them on his nose. “I think, son, that the past is a thing which _informs_ our present, but should never be allowed to hold tyranny over our present or future.”

Akira closed the door and scratched behind his ear. “Even if she blames me? How would I make it right?”

Father Sugiyama stood and paced to the bookshelf to his left. “Well, there’s no one easy answer. How did you meet the lucky lady?”

Akira swallowed. Mishima deserved some good answers. “Volleyball practice.”

The priest’s eyes widened for a moment and he pulled a book off the shelf and returned to his office chair. “Is Shiho still hurt?”

Akira squirmed, the padded chair much less comfortable for some reason. “She’s… still in the hospital. Hasn’t finished physical therapy.” He sat back against the chair. “How’d you know?”

Father Sugiyama smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “‘My friend has this problem’ is very close to ‘I have this problem’. And I suspect you’d be at the thanksgiving offertory right now if you found a serious girlfriend.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose for a moment before returning his spectacles to his nose. “What did she say in the last visit?”

The transfer student tugged at his dress shirt lapels, unable to meet Father Sugiyama’s bespectacled gaze. It took Akira several days to ask Ann about Shiho again after the shock of her explosive rage. Ann had to beg the class rep to come the first time, and Mishima got jittery and self-effacing every time he or Ann poked him to visit Shiho again. “He hasn’t gone back. And somehow what he’s saying makes sense, but I don’t _understand_ it.” Might as well see what response, if not answers, the Father had to Mishima’s excuse. “Says she was hurt because of him. That going back would just dredge up all her pain again. No matter what Ann or I say, he said he doesn’t have that right.” His mouth tasted bitter. It didn’t make sense that Mishima wasn’t battering down every door between himself and the girl he wept over.

Father Sugiyama’s head tilted just a little, focus leaking out of what little slipped beyond his composed mask. “Our lives are defined by what we sacrifice for. If he wants to rebuild the relationship, he needs to go to her. And in my experience of couples’ therapy in the parish, the sooner you reconnect the better. Even if you have to include intermediaries. No relationship becomes serious without a multitude of factors bringing two people together. What drew them together?”

Akira took off his glasses to wipe a faint smudge on the lens, certain the temperature in the room went up when the thought about pre-incident Shiho. “She was kind, beautiful, insightful. She possessed a calm, but somehow drew the eyes of everyone around her without ever needing to raise her voice or be extravagant. She had the patience to look at me. To decide to look past the rumors and give me a chance to be an Akira who _wasn’t_ a criminal, who _wasn’t_ a broken twig away from whipping my knife out, who _wasn’t_ an asshole. For Mishima, she was all that _and_ affectionate.” Putting away his microfiber cloth, he set his glasses back on his nose, eyes down as jealousy roared within that she couldn’t have been his. “And that smile…”

Sugiyama’s composed mask slipped just a bit, the corners of his lips turning up and a glint in his eyes before he opened the book and traced down the table of contents, then flicked through the pages. “It’s clear this girl is dear to you, as well. Sadly, without speaking to the boy I can’t be sure what factors are central to his relationship. But I can give general relationship advice. Go with him if he needs a steady shoulder, he needs to repeat those things he loves of her and seek the things she loved of him.”

Akira straightened and took in a deep, centering breath. “Well, the situation got… complicated. Her best friend – who is _amazing_, supportive and beautiful to the point of being distracting. Like… she catches _girls’_ eyes.” The image of Ann in her hug-every-curve Panther suit sprang to the fore. He cringed, and in the privacy of his own mind kicked himself for thinking of his friend like that. Mother would think of people like that. He shook his head. “A-anyway, she was talking to Mishima and… whether it started as an accident or not, they kissed.”

Sugiyama spread his hands over the pages to flatten the book, but his eyes remained on the transfer student. “Well, a little incidental contact by teenagers in school isn’t breaking marriage vows.”

Akira worked his jaw, sympathy for and anger at Mishima both for being so close to two beautiful women. “It wasn’t a short kiss. Breath ran out. I feel dirty just looking at Ann out of the corner of my eye while thinking of Shiho, I can’t imagine how painful it is for Mishima who was going steady with her.”

The priest folded his hands together on his book. “Well, anxiety can whittle down our patience as well as dampen our wisdom. If Mishima is concerned about loyalty, we can help understand what we value by what we set time aside for.”

The transfer student rubbed the back of his neck. “To be honest, Mishima’s been avoiding both of them. I understand shock – Shiho floored me with how angry she got at Mishima. But he’s been overworking himself trying to ‘make up for it’ and hasn’t ever gone in to see her since Ann and I dragged him that one time. At first I thought that was a good thing, because he tried to kill himself the day Kamoshida confessed. At least by working he’s got something to live for.” He blinked, then took off his glasses to wipe a fallen eyelash from his face. “But since he told me about the thing with Ann, he’s been avoiding her too.”

“Hm.” Father Sugiyama ran his finger down the page in a familiar speed-reading technique, turned the page, and kept going for a little ways. “People tend to avoid problems, hoping to avoid the discomfort of confrontation, but that rarely makes things better. It’s one of the reasons why the Catholic Church is so firm on its stance of forgiveness. It doesn’t just help those sinned against by restitution, it helps the sinner by opening our lives back up.”

Akira felt himself leaning just a bit forward in lieu of being able to step into the verbal confrontation. “Doesn’t it make just as much sense to try to balance the scales so you can go back into the world?”

“When there is an objective weight to measure against,” Sugiyama said, pushing back and reaching to a statuette of an archangel holding a set of scales. He set the statuette down on the desk, facing the transfer student. “If my driver backs up into your mailbox, causing five thousand yen of damage, it is a simple enough matter for me to pay five thousand for restitution. But what about if I accidentally lose the last photograph you have of a dear departed grandfather? Six hundred yen may be the cost to buy a set of photos at a mall photo booth, but what could compensate for the treasured memories you and your grandfather shared? What if _I_ lost my own photograph of my dear departed grandfather? Would I not increase the tally of the sin every time I thought of it, even though I had but the one sin?”

Akira looked at his hands in his lap.

“You said this young Mishima blames himself for what happened to Suzui-chan,” the Father said, leaning back in his chair. “Do you believe he would ever decide he has done enough for either hurting or allowing hurt to the person most precious to him?”

Akira took off his glasses to clean the lenses. He hated being stumped. “I didn’t really think about that.”

He folded his hands together again and looked the transfer student in his bespectacled eyes. “It is rather common for the virtuous to think more highly of others than we think of ourselves. The first thing you can do is be a reliable friend so he feels grounded enough to go forth.”

That made sense. Akira picked up his study Bible and bowed. “Thank you, Father. I should go get started.”


	47. June 6th, Lull Before

Persona 5: Daywatch

Sunday, 6 June 2016  
Early Afternoon  
Shibuya Station

The sound of fifty or sixty conversations spilled over each other and echoed off the tiled walls. Walking with the churning mass of humanity disgorging from Yongen’s line, the jostling of elbows and knees wore away at his mood from a good night’s sleep and invigorating match against Hifumi. Once he made it to the Underground, he diverted to an open space by a tile-covered pillar to catch a breath.

The roiling tides of humanity seethed around him until a tall, dark-haired boy slipped out and leaned against the pillar next to him. Slashes of gray and black across the bottom of his jacket added an asymmetrical sense of fashion to the stranger’s otherwise unexceptional ensemble.

Akira gave an acknowledging nod, though the lanky boy took several long moments to recognize the transfer student and give a half-hearted nod. He looked out into the crowd, though the way his dark grey eyes didn’t linger on any one else’s gave the impression of a man looking for something and expecting not to find it. After a few beats, the dark-haired boy settled back against the wall a meter away and pulled out his phone to focus on it.

Akira wondered what Father Sugiyama would have said. The thought brought to mind his recent entreaty to be a support for his friends so they could step out into their lives. He fished his phone out of his pants pocket and dialed Mishima.

It rang twice before the class representative picked it up. “Oh. Good day, Akira-san. I’m sorry, but I haven’t found you any new names. There’s a stalker in Shibuya who’s stepping up into assault. Three elderly people have been hospitalized, all of them with the same story, but none of them have a name.”

Akira pursed his lips and pondered. Mishima had been shouldering the burden of investigation for the Phantom Thieves. If Akira could find this bastard, it might lighten the load for him and make him feel ready to patch things up with Shiho.

Mishima was the one who was with her for a year. Mishima was the one who sacrificed for her day after day. It’s not like Shiho was his.

Why didn’t that make it easier to think of the sweetest girl in Shujin being with someone else? He wouldn’t have been a good match for a good girl anyway.

Akira cleared his throat. “Well, don’t wear yourself out trying to do everything yourself. I’ll be starting a job at the convenience store next to the arcade, so I can keep an ear out. Just send me a text with what you’ve got.” He glanced at the young man in a tricolor jacket dominated by purple, but decided not to interrupt the stranger’s texting.

Shibuya, 777 Convenience

With little else to do in the street-level shop, Akira kept a close eye on the two college-age-ish young men in the magazine aisle. Like most stores in Japan it was policy to let people browse to get out of the weather in the hopes of making a good impression and sales, and Akira retreated indoors on frequent occasion to escape the chaotic crowds so he didn’t want to confront them. However, something about them reminded him of thieves scoping out a mark after classes at Inuri.

Bowl Cut snickered at one of the lifestyle of the rich magazines. “My luck may finally be turning. The ADP finally sent me an invitation to a Gold Members Seminar. That’s the quick path to their VIP crowd.” When his friend stood silent for a second, Bowl Cut added, “Those guys are all rolling in dough.”

Akira straightened the coin change tray and muttered, “Surely the greatest reason to join a group. Other people being rich.”

Bowl Cut’s curly-haired friend looked up from his porn mag. “You really think people like us can ever hit it big? Fortune doesn’t change for peeps like us. I couldn’t even afford to sue when Aizawa stole my motorized skateboard design. Same logo an’ everythin’.” He put that magazine back and thumbed through others before stopping on a trashy tabloid with something about Venus in the corner of the cover.

Bowl Cut grabbed a pair of paper-wrapped onigiri and headed to the front. With his fellow cashier buried in receipts, Akira waved to the pair of idiots dreaming of get rich quick schemes. “Interested in any mint gum or hot pastries?”

Curly Hair waved him away. “Nah.”

Bowl Cut shrugged and set down a crisp ten-thousand yen note, though the design was years old. It looked like one of Kaneshiro’s counterfeits. Akira decided to shrug and let the store handle it. Short of explaining walking through Kaneshiro’s memories, he had no way to explain a high school student knowing about the fat mafia bastard’s counterfeiting operation.

As Akira handed back change, he looked at the sweet flavors of the onigiri and mused, “You know, I’ve never made those before. I wonder how the others would like them.”

Ignoring the transfer student, Bowl Cut unwrapped the first and took a big bite before he even got outside. The fan blew a tepid zephyr behind the counter.

Akira took a rag from the sanitizing solution bucket and wiped the counter down for the fifth time this shift.

His co-worker paced closer and opened her mouth, though her jaws widened into a yawn and she covered her mouth until finished. “Looks like it’s going to be a dead day, kid. You might as well go home and hit those school books.”

Sunday, 5 June 2016  
Early Evening  
Central Street

Stepping out of the book store, street lamps flooded the lanes with light even before the sun disappeared behind the mountains. Akira adjusted his glasses and drew in a deep breath. Despite the good day so far, the chaotic crowds churned back and forth, making him feel dizzy. Dozens of conversations, with fellow pedestrians and over cell phones blanketed the street, leaving Akira feel choked of oxygen.

He pulled in another breath, the air coming in thin wisps, and stepped through the crowd. The morning seemed so easy, but the evening crowd pushed back from all angles. Elbows, knees, and shoulders slammed into him. Akira tried to follow Ryuji’s crowd-running example, but a knee hit his leg and sent him stumbling.

Acting on instinct, he spun around, shoving at the jerk who tripped him.

His hand connected with the twenty-something guy, his bright baseball cap and thin goatee clashing with a crisp button-down business shirt. The guy stumbled into a couple other people, the disturbance drawing a wider circle of attention. A handful of those who stopped to stare pulled out their phones to record the incipient fight. The guy lowered into a crouch, fists balled.

Akira’s heart rate jumped and his lips curled up. He raised his own guard, keeping his hands loose.

“Enough!” a scratchy man’s voice bellowed over the rumble of the crowd. The pudgy, balding politician broke through the circle, his green sash catching the evening wind. He turned his dark eyes on the first one to meet his, Goatee. “Gentlemen, we’re all adults here. Hundreds of people have to get where they are going tonight. Let’s be mature and share this crowded thoroughfare.”

The bend to Goatee’s legs straightened and his fists lowered a little, but he remained ready to throw a punch.

Seeing the other man’s readiness left Akira’s own muscles taught.

The politician spun on him. Stern-faced and standing at his full height, something about him sent a flicker of fear through the transfer student at his resemblance to his domineering father. “It doesn’t take courage to draw a sword. It takes courage to sheathe it. No bullets or arrows are flying, so do you have the strength to stop here?”

Akira shifted his weight from his left to his right and back again.

“What’s your name, Son?”

Akira’s eyes flicked to the crowd around him. “Yamada.”

The pudgy man gave a nod and the intimidating sternness faded. He pointed a hand at himself. “Toranosuke.” He took a step back to allow the two younger men to look at each other directly, his own gaze falling on Goatee.

The young man stood up and opened his fists, the muscles tensed for a fight relaxing. “Iori. Sorry about bumpin’ into you. I kinda got jostled by the crowd, but I should’a been more careful.”

Akira could feel the energy in the crowd change before Iori even finished, all the pressure turning to him. He slipped his hands into his pockets and wished they’d all just go away and do something else. Why were their stares always so damn heavy? “I should’ve stayed cool. No harm, no foul.” He stuck out a hand, more to get the crowd to look away from him than because he was naive enough to think the goateed guy would—

Iori took it and gave one firm shake.

At this point, Akira couldn’t ignore the rising muttering from the crowd. “Did you see that? Old man Tora just talked two guys from brawl to friends in less than sixty seconds.”

Iori took the handle of a small, wheeled travel case. “’scuse me, I gotta catch my train.” When he passed the circle of people, the crowd largely returned to its chaotic shuffle, though they left room for Akira and the pudgy politician.

Morgana poked his head out of the satchel. “That conviction and command of the public space reminded me of yours truly. You could learn a thing or two from him, Joker.”

His face burned when he wondered what the other parish members would’ve said if they saw him. Would Father Sugiyama scold him for tarnishing the Day of the Lord with a street brawl? Would Hifumi shun him for being so obstinate somebody else needed to step in and stop his fight? Akira let out a long breath. “You know what? You’re right.” But with cameras and gawkers still about, he couldn’t just walk up and admit he did something wrong. People put him away for not having done anything wrong before, how much more would they screw him for fessing up for a mistake?

Akira turned for the trains to Yongen, but made a mental note to stop and talk to the old politician the next time he had an opportunity.

Monday, 6 June 2016  
Early Morning  
Shibuya Station

Something about the cadence of conversation in the subway brought to mind the piano music in Hifumi’s ringtone yesterday. Humming the tune to himself, Akira strode through the Shibuya underground to the line to Aoyama. Fewer people crowded the station platform than he was used to, allowing him a sensation of plenty of air.

Blonde pigtails resolved out of the crowd and came to a stop next to him. Ann crossed her arms and looked ready to rip someone’s limbs off. “What an unbearable weekend. My shoot on Saturday went _horribly_. The photographer kept saying my smile was as fake as the snow, so I spent _hours_ in heavy winter coats under the hottest studio lights in Japan.”

Akira gave a sympathetic nod. “Sounds rough, but at least it’s over and you’re here now.” He found himself drifting back into humming.

Morgana popped out of the school satchel. “Are you okay, Lady Ann? You didn’t get sick over the weekend, did you?”

She shook her head, sending her voluminous pigtails spilling off her shoulders. Too tired to yell, she bit out, “No.” She straightened her skirt. “Sorry. I’m just nervous about Kaneshiro’s heart. Ryuji’s a good guy, even came over on Sunday to help carry that gold briefcase to a guy he knows to sell it. And I just got to know Makoto. I don’t want anything to happen to them.”

The team leader stretched a paw at her, then steadied himself on Akira’s shoulder, a sparkle in his eyes. “You’re so kind, Lady Ann.”

Akira leaned to nudge her. “Have faith, Ann-san. We stole the Treasure and convinced the Shadow. He’ll change, just like Coach Asshole.” He glanced to the team leader perched on his shoulder. “Just needs time to recover from the palace collapse, right?”

At the leader’s nod, Ann’s crossed arms loosened. “I guess you’re right.” She scanned him. “You’re in an awfully good mood today. Are you that certain? I just don’t remember you looking this cheerful when we beat him.”

Akira shrugged, jostling the leader. “Maybe it just took this long to sink in? Maybe it was a really good weekend.”

Monday, 6 June 2016  
Lunchtime  
Shujin, Student Store

Akira shuffled up to the student store window. “Cheese bread.” He set down yen coins in payment. A buzz emanated from his phone, then buzzed again. A moment later it buzzed again. He took it out to see what the conversation was about.

Makoto sent, [It worked!]

Ryuji followed up with, [Woot!]

[What worked?] Ann sent.

Three dots danced next to Makoto’s ID. [The change of heart.]

Akira tapped open the virtual keyboard. [Awesome! You sure?]

Makoto’s reply came fast. [Definitely. He sent me a text this morning informing me the debt was canceled and all footage had been deleted. I was suspicious, but Big Sis just called me. Said they were having a strategy meeting. That's when she hands off cases, but she said she wouldn't be home today. That can only mean a sudden increase in case load. It's as close as she's allowed to say Kaneshiro turned himself in.]

The student worker handed over a paper-wrapped bun and Akira paced to the corner of the disused vending machine nook in the courtyard. Reading over Akira’s shoulder, Morgana purred. “That is good news.”

Mishima’s ID pulsed, and three dots danced for a few seconds. [I haven't seen anything about it in the news. Between me and the other Newspaper Club members, we're watching about 30 news outlets.]

The transfer student tapped reply, but Makoto’s ID blinked before he could think of what to say. [Regular procedure in a case like this would be for the Special Investigative Unit to put a gag order on the press until he's been processed into protective custody. I'd expect the story to start breaking late this evening, tomorrow morning at the latest. Especially if we can hit more of his lieutenants in Mementos today.]

Ryuji shot out, [She's as crazy as you, bro.]

Typing fast, Akira sent, [Motivated. We are MOTIVATED. And that's because we're awesome and can't be stopped!]

Ryuji replied to him with a quick, [You're peppy today.]

Akira paused to tear his scant bread’s packaging open with his teeth, then added, [Anyway, if we're going to be hitting Mementos, do you have any new names for us, Mishima?]

Several seconds passed without sign of response. After downing a mouthful of cheese bread, the transfer student saw dots pulse next to Mishima’s ID. [Strangely, no. There's been a lot of petty complaints against strict parents or annoying boyfriends, but the Phansite isn't Revenge Quest. All I've been hearing about in the Newspaper Club is about betting rings, but as long as nobody's fixing games I don't think that's enough to be worth digging into.] A couple seconds passed before he added, [Although I did see an anonymous request to change a stalker's heart at Shujin, so I'll investigate that one myself.]

Makoto’s ID blinked. [Thank you for all your hard work, Mishima-kun.]

Morgana’s ear flicked as he read the conversation. “That class representative sure is working hard. The Phantom Thieves could certainly use the help, but now that Kaneshiro’s behind bars, shouldn’t we all be relaxing?”

A buzz alerted him to a private text message. He shuffled out of the Phantom Thief chat to see a message from Ann. [Papa's going to be in Tokyo today, but I'm worried about Yuuki. I don't want him to burn out. He never really knew when to stop, but Shiho was always the smart one among us who knew when to go out on a de-stress date. Could you talk to him?]

[Will do.] Akira closed that thread and opened a private text line to Makoto. [Could we put off Mementos until tomorrow?]

[Very well. I have student council work to keep up on, anyway.]

Working until problems went away sounded like a good plan to Akira, but it was easier to see burnout in others than yourself. “I’ll have a talk with him.” He typed in a casual invitation, then paused. If he understood the class representative’s mentality, he’d have to tell him to show up rather than ask. [We need to talk, Mishima. Meet me at Ore no Beko after school. Send me a text as soon as you can get there.]

Monday, 6 June 2016  
After School  
Shibuya, Ore no Beko

Akira lifted the sheet of homework up and scanned his geography book for a mention for when China changed its capital from Nanjing to Beijing. “Why can’t China just make up its goddamn mind? I thought it was supposed to be a three thousand-year kingdom.”

Staring up from the satchel against the transfer student’s stool, Morgana called through the racoucious din, “Incoming.”

Mishima approached, then took the just vacated seat next to him. The presence of a dust mask stood out, compounding with the class representative’s already tired appearance. He more dropped himself onto the stool than sat down. “Hey, Akira-kun.”

Akira set down his mechanical pencil. “Holy crap, Mishima. When’s the last time you got some sleep?”

“I said Hou Guo Rou!” one of the patrons shouted at the hapless college student scrambling on the other side of the counter.

Mishima coughed, holding the counter to steady himself until his coughing fit passed. “I…haven’t even come close to making things right. There’s so much sickness in the world.”

Akira looked at the class representative’s hunch, his pale skin, the dark circles around his eyes. “Yeah. Maybe some closer to home than others.”

Mishima’s gaze drifted away to the counter. “I sacrificed Shiho to protect myself out of a moment of weakness. I have to make that right, and at least with the Phansite…” he gestured to Akira, “with all this, I’m starting to. But there’s always an obstacle. Like when you guys were trying to learn the yakuza boss’s name. I just don’t know how to fix it all.”

The server, a college boy who looked like he’d sampled one too many bowls, slid to a stop in front of them. Akira held up his hand to give a visual cue since that helped him while he was working here. “Two medium beef bowls.”

The server scrambled off.

Morgana’s ears curled back against his head. “It might be unrealistic to try to fix the world. Even one heart is a challenge.”

Akira nodded. “You can’t heap all the blame on yourself, Mishima. If you hadn’t gone, Kamoshida would’ve beaten you into a coma and had somebody else do it.” Akira shrugged, looking down to the team leader. “And you may have a point, but this is good work and there’s got to be some way to keep doing it, just better.”

Morgana licked his paw and brushed at his ear. “Even _you_ used help. Didn’t that reporter get you Kaneshiro’s full name?”

Akira leaned back with a smile. “Hey, that’s right.” He looked the class representative in the eye. “Maybe you just need a mentor, somebody who’s already learned the ropes of investigating people. We got the rest of that boss’s name from a reporter.”

Morgana smiled and puffed out his chest like it had all been his set-up. “All we have to do is bring him to Shinjuku to meet her.”

A droplet of sweat drops down Akira’s neck. “Uh…maybe she could meet us somewhere else?”

Morgana’s ears fell slack. “Just set up a meet and let them handle it.”

Monday, 6 June 2016  
Evening  
Yongen, Leblanc

Head pulsing with numbers and figures from a long study session at the diner, Akira shoved open the door. The bell gave a merry jingle, the simple clarity of the sound a contrast to the bustling jumble in Shibuya. The TV showed a sequence of shots of police officers and patrol cars, a scrolling headline mentioning a large operation sweeping Shibuya. The restaurateur himself brushed rice from the table onto a battered dust pan. Splotches of curry dotted by rice blotted both sides of a set of booth seats, as well as the tables on each side. Akira paused stepped inside. “What happened here?”

Sojiro jerked, rising only a centimeter before his torso spasmed. His face contorted and he dropped the metal dust pan, catching the table. His eyes squeezed shut and he let out a groan, reaching his other hand to press his fingers against his side.

Akira set his school satchel on the counter and ran to help the old man up. “You okay?”

Scowling, Sojiro dug his fingers against his back. “Leave old backs to old men and go take care of yourself.”

Akira stepped back. A part of him wanted to kick the old man for giving him a metaphorical slap at the offer of help, but he found himself at the end of his breath and took a deep lungful in. The time let him think back to his conversation with Father Sugiyama and the old man’s reminder that Akira needed to work on his own problems before he had the footing to take issue with others. Hifumi’s words echoed in his mind, _It’s important to give back to something you take from. What’s good for the whole is good for the one_.

The transfer student retrieved the cold compress from the fridge, then returned to his school satchel for the medical supplies hidden in it for Mementos visits. “I need the brown bandages, your highness.” When Morgana hopped out and slunk away without a word, Akira decided to leave his focus on the shop owner. “Here. Cold helps muscle tension and stiffness.”

Sojiro’s mouth quirked, but turned to help the transfer student wrap the compress in place. “So what about heat?”

“That’s used for muscle soreness,” Akira said, winding the brown strap around the middle-aged man’s torso.

The restaurateur couldn’t hide a satisfied smile. “I remember you heading over to the doc’s with that nice girl. That visit make a big impression?”

Akira chuffed and pressed the last of the length down to help the bandage cling. “I was always going into medicine. You can’t escape the family trade when you’re the son of a neuropsychologist who’s the son of a pharmacist.” He stood up and looked the man over, noting less pinching of the shoulders. “I’m kind of surprised you didn’t assume she was my girlfriend. It seems like I can’t spend time around a chick without everyone assuming I’m trying to get into her pants. Even people who never knew Mother.”

Sojiro rocked from the balls of his feet to his heels and back again, his eyes distant. “Just imagine having a sister to tease you about it.”

Akira plopped back on a seat by the bar, just out of the mess of spilled rice. “I have to assume that would just make things easier.” When the adult arched an eyebrow, Akira straightened. “Well, all the top scorers at Inuri had siblings, and there’s a concrete social stabilization factor with more in-generational cohorts.”

Sojiro stared at the student for long seconds before a brief laugh bubbled out. “I don’t think I’ve heard such a cold, clinical summary of family benefits. And that’s saying something from a guy who retired from a career in the Ministry of Finance.”

Akira picked a piece of fuzz off his sleeve. “My only observations are from the outside.” He stood and straightened his shirt. “It’s not like getting a little brother or sister was ever _my_ decision.”

“That’s more neutral than I expected of you,” Sojiro said, hand drifting to the bandage. “Just out of curiosity, would you say you’d dread having a sibling to look out for, or missed not having one to play with?”

Taking out a microfiber cloth, Akira cleaned his glasses. “If it wasn’t for the parents, I think I’d have liked a little brother.” He picked up the brush the restaurateur dropped earlier. “Why don’t you settle back and I’ll get this?”

“Won’t argue with that,” Sojiro said, striding behind the counter to the register. “What about a little sister?”

Akira paused at the edge of the spilled rice all over the floor, broom in hand. “Just as good. Family’s family.”

The register clacked open. “That’s surprising. I took you for an ‘I don’t rely on anyone’ sort.” He leaned to write something into his smart phone. “And you looked like your skin was crawling when Emi was last in. I’d have bet money you’re one of those ‘keep girls away’ guys.”

“I tend not to want to rely on others. You knew my old bastard, you should know why.” He paused to adjust his grip on the broom. “But I still want people to know they can rely on me.” Akira swept loose, dried rice on the floor into the dust pan, then knelt to get the broom underneath the booth seats. “You knew anyone besides Isshiki at the institute?”

“Not well.”

Satisfied the floor was clean, Akira set the broom against another booth table and swept a napkin over one of the tables. “Mother acted like men were just for entertainment. It sounds a lot like how people keep expecting me… or most guys to treat girls. About the only examples my parents gave me was what _not_ to do.” He folded his napkin over and brushed the other half of loose crud from the table. “Men aren’t playthings, and neither are women. You keep at arm’s reach and everything goes okay.” He brushed his hands clean, then took a wet rag to scrub the tables.

Sojiro stood up from the cash register. “Whoo, boy. You’re right about not being playthings, kid, but I think you’re carrying some wrong assumptions. There’s nothing wrong with having a little fun with the fairer sex. It’s when you disrespect ‘em that problems crop up.” He looked back down to the yen notes in his hand and finished counting, typed something into his phone, then stuffed most into a small, lined envelope. “And it’s not like you treat ‘em _all_ the same. You’ve gotta handle a grown lady like a dance, with a lot of give and take. They like spontaneity. Young girls, on the other hand, aren’t as big on changes.”

“Where’d you hear something like that?” Akira sopped up some more water and started on the next table. “The only thing I hear girls talk about at school is how bored they are.” He finished the second table and headed to the sink to rinse the rag.

The restaurateur wrote something into his smart phone, then closed the register. “Well, much as I’d like to keep chatting about family mores, now my feet are killing me. It’s just time to go home and put these old bones up.” He took a step past the counter, then paused. “Oh, and leave your journal here underneath the register. Social services said they needed an evaluation when they come interview me about your behavior, so I’ll take care of it after the morning rush.”

Akira nodded, glad he sanitized the daily events he wrote down there. The journal seemed to help, but no way would he let Sojiro know about the one he wrote his dreams and Metaverse exploits in.


	48. June 6th, Sacrificing Power

Persona 5: Daywatch

Monday, 6 June 2016  
Night  
Velvet Room

The clang of a baton on bars pierced his ears before he opened his eyes to a room covered in crushed velvet. The sedate blue contrasted with Caroline’s shout, “On your feet, Inmate! Our master has deigned to speak with you.”

A chuckle floated from the desk in the middle of the panopticon. The balding man with long grey hair and an unnaturally long nose grinned over folded hands. “Excellent work, Phantom Thief. Your work of rehabilitating society is rehabilitating your self as well. A gluttonous monster deposed, and what of you?” That glass ball on a cylinder with iron pins rested on the desk next to him, though it looked to have about a dozen pins and twice that many marbles of various colors inside.

Akira stood up, taking slow steps to drag the ball on a chain so he didn’t trip on the bar door this time. Wild speculation on his own tenuous psyche could wait. “He said something about an enemy in a black mask, someone exploiting others’ hearts for profit.”

The unnerving grin widened. Just a little, but it didn’t have much face left to spread on. “Interesting.”

Akira grasped the bars on his door. “Who is he? What’s that black mask guy doing in people’s heads?”

A scoff floated from the stunted girl in a warden costume to his left. “Why do you waste our master’s precious time with questions you already know the answer to, Inmate?”

He glared at her. “Would I ask if I knew?”

“Think carefully,” Igor said, smile stretched as ever, “about what you know.”

Akira grit his teeth. “Kaneshiro said there was some black mask…and that he was exploiting others’ hearts for profit.”

Justine let out a scoff. “And how many is ‘he’?”

Akira let go with one of his hands. “One.”

Igor nodded, holding out a thin hand. “And if he wears a mask?”

Akira brought his free hand up to his own face. While he lacked his Phantom Thief costume at the moment, the memory of his mask over his face pressed down. “He’s gotta be just like me. He’s some douche-bag with a Persona, going around screwing with people.” He reached back for the door. “How do I find him? _Can_ I?”

A low, rumbling chuckle floated out from the center of the panopticon. “One of many interesting possibilities, is it not?”

Akira narrowed his eyes, scanning the easy posture of the tuxedoed man. “I thought you were supposed to aid me. How can I knock down ever bigger Shadows if I can’t outgun them?”

Igor chuckled. “Perhaps it is time to bequeath you with another boon. Consider it a reward for this most fascinating turn of the times.” Igor clapped his hands, eyes flicking to the girls cosplaying as wardens. “Set up the chair.”

Caroline and Justine shared a glance, then nodded to each other.

Snatching his hands back, Akira stepped back from the door. “The chair? Is this a Monty Python joke?”

“A tool of execution.” Justine tapped her clipboard against her side as if nothing were out of the ordinary. “By sacrificing your Personas, with our help you can convert them into shards of power that can help you by other means.”

“Yeah!” the eye-patched girl with the hair bun shouted at him. “Next time you come back, we’ll have an execution chamber ready to change your Personas into what you need to over-power your puny enemies.”

Akira crossed his arms. “And if the idea of _executing pieces of my mind_ isn’t exactly something I’m up to?”

Justine held a blank stare on him, though something about her facial features fell. “You must be willing to give up parts of yourself to become different.” She held up one hand. “Now the night draws to a close. Until next time…”

Tuesday, 7 June 2016  
After School  
Mementos, Path of Aiyatsbus

Striding out of Shadow Morihiko’s personal distorted space of Mementos, Akira looked both ways. The emergency lighting in this sector shone with magenta, bright enough to get a scope of the nearby environment at a glance but not enough to chase away the deep darkness of this twisting mockery of Tokyo’s subways. Akira tried to tell himself it was that stark contrasts that made him think he kept seeing movement stalking them within the shadows.

Morgana popped into his bus form and Ryuji waved the transfer student over. “Hey, dude! You fallin’ asleep on your feet?” He raised turned to the other Phantom Thieves in the Morgana-bus only six feet away, his voice undimmed, “Told you all that six in one day was too many for ‘im.”

Akira shook his head and folded his sub-machine gun’s wire stock before following Ryuji into the middle bench.

Makoto turned around in the driver’s seat. “Think we can get Madam Ikenouchi?”

Akira adjusted the fit of his gloves. “Let’s do it.”

Ann grunted and flopped back against her seat in the front passenger. “Ugh. I’ve still got to read Ki no Tsurayugi.”

Ryuji peered out his window, then leaned across Akira to look out the side door’s window. At least he kept the assault rifle in his lap pointed away. “Let’s put the hurt on those mafia assholes!”

Akira smiled. “You’re awfully enthusiastic.”

Ryuji gave him a toothy grin. “Eff yeah, dude! I had to sit out, like, the whole palace. Now’s _my_ chance to show those mafia dipshits ain’t nobody can run from the Phantom Thieves.”

Ann crossed her arms and shot a narrow gaze at him. “You mean to free the oppressed from injustice?”

Ryuji waved a hand down at her. “Ya know what I mean. Anyway, I think we all got a lot stronger in Mementos. If it wasn’t for Kaneshiro’s thugs in real life, I bet I’d’a been up for the whole Palace. These Shadows feel like a warm up. Ya get me?”

Akira held up a hand. “Hell yeah, man.”

The runner clapped his upraised hand, then looked to the student council president scanning a list of names in the pocket notebook in her hand. “Takin’ down more names for your sis?”

Makoto nodded, but kept her torso mostly pointed forward despite Morgana being the one driving. “Most of today’s are sex traffickers, but even if they’re not as dangerous as the drug pushers, that’s going to be a lot of girls who don’t have to be afraid anymore.” She clicked her pen closed and pushed it through the spiral of wire at the top. “You know, I was worried about Big Sis when we first started slipping her names. This is going to make more work for her and the other prosecutors. And when she called yesterday, she sounded _furious_ when that story broke about the Phantom Thieves getting Kaneshiro. SIU had been on him for years.” She rubbed her arm underneath the spiked pauldron. “She’s always been driven, but…” Makoto shook her head. “I don’t know.”

Ann leaned back in her front passenger seat. “I hope that means she’s not going after us. Those names were a lot of hard work and she’s definitely getting credit for snapping those ones up.”

Morgana pulled up to another station with descending escalators and popped back into his catboy form. He led the team halfway down the escalators before the sound of rattling chains echoed from a distant tunnel, and his tail shot straight out. “Okay, enough exploring.”

Makoto held a hand over her mouth, but that failed to entirely conceal her yawn. Or the pained twitch in her left side. “No, it’s okay. I’m good for one more heart.”

Morgana roared, “We are leaving _now_!”

When he took off running up the escalator, the others followed at a jog. Ann twirled a finger through the tip of a pigtail. “What’s up, Byakko?”

Morgana dove off the station platform and popped back into the Morgana-bus. “Get in,” he commanded. Sensing the gravity of his words if not understanding the situation, the team piled in. He shot down the tunnels, slowing at each corner before rocketing on. “Those chains mean something is on the prowl that we do _not_ want to run into.” The team ascended two floors before returning to a sub-station with the steel door to a shortcut ladder.

With the team leader out of breath, Akira said what was on everyone’s minds. “What the hell was—?”

Morgana brought a finger to his mouth, his eyes wide. The blue orbs searched left and right before he motioned the thieves closer. “Remember what I said when I first introduced you to Mementos?”

Akira thought back. “Shadows rarely come up. So there are some weird ones that do?”

Morgana’s arms fell and shoulders slouched. “No. It’s Shadows coming _down_.” He took a deep breath, eyes flicking over the assembled Phantom Thieves. “Remember how I didn’t let you guys linger up on the surface? Even though it seems empty… there are Shadows there. Sometimes _big_ ones.”

Ryuji slung his rifle by its strap, letting it dangle from his shoulder. “Bigger than Kamoshida?”

The short team leader nodded. “_Way_ stronger. All of us together wouldn’t be a match for one of them.”

Makoto paced to one of the benches and sat, taking her time stretching her left arm out, though she couldn’t conceal a cringe of pain in her face.

Lips pressing together, Akira sat down next to her. “Busted arm, or shoulder?”

“Back, actually,” she said, eyes away but shoulders tense. She fidgeted with her hands in her lap, but made obvious effort to feign that nonchalant pose with her back too straight.

“Here,” Akira said, shifting on his seat to face her directly. “Face the stairs up, I’ll see if I can’t isolate the problem.”

“You have a Persona that can heal our bodily damage?”

“More mundane than that. I’m studying medicine.” She swallowed, then nodded. Akira pressed his fingertips against the back of her leather biker getup. She jerked, tense, but stayed sitting. Pressing in, he pressed his fingertips across her trapezius muscle. Searching for a problem to diagnose helped him focus away from the fact that he was touching a girl as athletic as him.

He found a clench as tight as a rock under the leather and Makoto jerked away.

Ryuji flashed them a leering grin. “Whoa. You cheatin’ on Ann?”

Pink spread over the model’s cheeks. “Ryuji! We’re not going out!”

“Yeah,” Morgana blurted. “He’s clearly going for somebody who can nerd out.”

Snapping to her feet and away from the transfer student, Makoto’s blush darkened even more than the model’s. “We are not a couple!”

Akira rose to his feet, glaring at Ryuji. “You were _there_ when I told Shiho I was going to become a chiropractor. Diagnosis is a fundamental part of physical therapy.”

The utility door popped open and Morgana dropped back to the floor. “Enough jaw-flapping, everyone. Time for the Phantom Thieves to disperse and rest. We’ve done a lot of good today, let’s make sure we take care of ourselves so we can do so again.”

Ryuji, tapping his foot in impatience, raced in.

They climbed up the shorter-than-it-should-be ladder to the lobby, but Akira snagged Makoto’s wrist before they could head out. “Hey, Rider. Doctor Takemi’s not quite a physical therapist, but you really need to see someone about those muscle knots you’ve got. If left untreated it could eventually cause muscle tearing.”

She rubbed her fingers against the base of her neck, eyes squinting. Makoto took in a deep breath and for a moment he expected her to walk off, but instead she turned to him. “You’re saying I’m not taking care of myself.” Sighing, she lifted her eyes to his. “Big Sis and I are a lot alike. She’s very driven and comfortable battering down rote problems. Am I going about this all too mechanically?”

Akira clasped his hands together, the very picture of serious contemplation. “Beep boop. Unit zero two confirms.”

Makoto scowled. She stormed a few steps away, but stopped short of the stairs to the surface. After a brief breath, she rubbed her left arm. “I thought I changed when I awakened to my Persona and fought alongside the rest of you, but apparently it wasn’t as much change as I thought.”

The slump of her posture reminded him of himself, and making fun of somebody in an existential problem felt like what his father would do. Akira stepped closer and patted her arm just under the pauldron. “Hey, I know we don’t always see eye-to-eye on everything, but I’m trying to get better too. If you need my help… Maybe next time we can start on the right foot.”

Her face twisted, but after a moment she straightened. A twinge of pain flitted over her face. “Thanks, Joker.”

She turned and walked out, past a translucent, blue barred door just a meter from the stairs. The wanna-be warden twins stood next to it, both of them holding a finger to their lips when he opened his mouth.

Akira looked back up the stairs after his upperclassman. “What’s wrong with her?”

Contrary to his expectations, the cosplaying child with a hairbun and baton stepped back further behind the corner. The sound of Makoto’s bootsteps faded.

Justine held her unsettling, dispassionate gaze on the transfer student. “We are here for _you_, Inmate. Remember that we are your conspirators as long as you are on the path to rehabilitation. You have been forming bonds with those – like you – denied a place to belong.”

“Okay, first I don’t think rehabilitate means what you think it means.” Akira ran a hand back through his hair. The wanna-be warden with a clipboard betrayed no emotions or intentions and that set his teeth on edge. “I don’t understand how befriending people down on their luck is supposed to make me more powerful.”

Caroline brandished her baton at him. “You’ve already used it, Inmate!”

Akira stopped at just flinching back from her baton. His eyebrows arched and he slipped his gloved hands in his dark longcoat’s pockets. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Justine held out her clipboard-holding hand at the door. “Come, let us explain and put to action. Our master has deigned to grant you a boon.” The glowing blue door of bars swung open, a dull blue like a still curtain inside. She strode in, vanishing into the plane of whatever it was. He looked behind the door, no sign of shadow or movement in the corner beyond.

A shoe in his lower back knocked him stumbling into the doorway. The first thing he noticed as he caught his footing was the clean stone floor and sedate, neutral lighting. Bars stretched across the cell wall opening to the center of the unsettling panopticon, a soft blue covering almost everything but the grey stone. Igor’s desk piled with papers in the center of the rug with a V on it. Like before, that strange marble-filled tube sat in the middle. A high-backed, bland wood chair sat off to the side, like a forgotten decoration. Akira swallowed when he looked closer and saw iron manacles, and a spiraling wire jutting from the top of the back, arcing up and forward to terminate in an iron cap.

The twins wearing hats collectively spelling Oxymoron stepped into view from beside the cell bars. Justine held her clipboard close, looking at it instead of him. “We intended to introduce you to fusing Personas later, but you have exceeded our expectations by beginning this process yourself in the lair of the gluttonous.”

Caroline jabbed her baton at him, sparks flying when it tapped the bars. “You mean stumbling blindly around, entirely out of order. Our master offered you the chair _first_ for a reason, Inmate!”

Akira scratched his hair, noticing that his gloves and swanky, high-necked coat and the rest of his Phantom Thief attire had been replaced by the rough white-and-black striped uniform. “Lair of the gluttonous… Kaneshiro’s bank? What ‘fusion’ happened there? The time I accidentally fireballed Makoto because Morgana thought we could pool our Personas’ magic power?”

Justine let the paper fall flat against the clipboard and turned a piercing gaze on him with that unnatural gold eye reminding him of a Goa’uld System Lord. “Think, Inmate. The one whose power, integrity, and resolve you sought when you saw your own was not enough to save your friends.”

Akira thought through the very short list of people he thought had integrity. But adding power… “Father Sugiyama?”

Justine gave a slow shake of her head. “You do not trust him. You could only have fused a Persona if you both trust and receive trust from.”

Akira took the bars in both hands. “Wait… that star-scaled serpent.”

Without even having to speak its name, motes of silvery light gathered in the open chamber, coalescing into the serpent the size of a small van. Ananta Shesha’s hooded cobra-heads spread as it stretched as if to say it was ready and waiting.

Justine gave a shallow nod, but if the light wasn’t playing tricks on him he thought he saw a shallow smile tug at her lips.

A clang rang and electricity zapped through the bars. The transfer student jerked away to glare at the aggressive warden-wanna-be. Caroline glared right back, her expression undimmed from the restriction of only having one eye. “That’s just _one_ quality from _one_ bond, Inmate! If you want any hope of true power, you’ll need to reach out to _many_ who have talents a weakling like you doesn’t. Using those bonds as a basis, we’ll help you forge that into power.”

Justine gave a shallow nod. “Prove yourself and we will even help you strengthen your Personas. For now, we will show you the boon our master bestowed upon you.”

When she gestured to the electric chair, Akira backed up a step. “Listen. I may have wanted to escape suffering before, but since meeting Father Motoori I have a different perspective on the value of life.”

Caroline’s baton clashed against the bars again, sparks zipping between the contact points. “Coward! It’s not even for _you_, it’s for your Personas. By sacrificing fragments of the power you’re taking from others, you can concentrate it into something even a clumsy thug like you can make use of. Perhaps the other thieves you’ve made contracts with.”

The prospect of being able to offer something useful to the others gave Akira pause. “How exactly does this work?”

Justine took her clipboard in both hands. “Think of the Persona you wish us to take to the chair.”

He stepped back up to the bars. “Power from others…” He thought back to the bank, when the others introduced Makoto to his ability to talk Shadows into joining them. But what would help the whole team? He had a couple Personas with the power of ice, but Ann surpassed his strength without even trying. He acquired Orthrus in the halls of the bank, but Makoto seemed at least as strong in literal fire power. More to the point, what was the biggest gap the Phantom Thieves faced? Captain Kidd had plenty of speed and strength, though it only seemed to be able to use its wind either offensively or to increase its mobility.

“That’s it,” he breathed. The gap in the team’s strength. Within the center of the panopticon, flutters of flame sparked and motes of light gathered into the distorted figure of a muscled humanoid, its bony joints standing out against its brawny arms and legs, a hole through the white oni’s face.

The twins led Fuu-Ki to the chair, threw a tarp over him, and shoved what he would have sworn was a smaller figure wrapped in a tarp into the chair. The iron restraints pinched over wrists and ankles. Justine paused next to the bound Persona to look up at Akira.

He took a deep breath. “Father Sugiyama always did say I needed to learn to let go.”

Caroline flicked a switch on the far side and a quick jolt blazed. Instead of a long spasm and agonized shrieks like he expected from horror movies, the entire Persona burst into a swirl held back by the strange tarp, raging for just a moment before the tarp settled down, to all appearances empty.

Justine cast the tarp to the hot-headed twin and picked up a green crystal shorter than a finger, crossing the panopticon to set it on the shelf jutting through a slot beside his barred door. Her one eye bored into him. “You may use this to imbue your weapons with the power sacrificed. You have already begun the next task on your road to rehabilitation by joining the strengths of your Personas with the strength of an ally’s Persona. By learning how to join power there, you will be ready to merge power here. Do so once again and we will discuss fusing Personas the next time you come here.”


	49. June 8th, Curb Your Enthusiasm

Persona 5: Daywatch

Wednesday, 8 June 2016  
Morning  
Shibuya Station

Akira shifted from one foot to the other. Despite getting his back comfortably against a wall, the shuffle of the crowd of students waiting to transfer across Shibuya still reminded him of a roiling boil. The noise made his skin crawl, but with his earbuds forgotten at the loft he had no choice but to sit back and wait for the train.

Bright, uncombed blond hair slipped out of the crowd. Ryuji thrust out his chest covered with his favorite red _ZOMG_ shirt on underneath his black winter jacket. The runner gave a smarmy grin. “Mornin’. You been listenin’ to folks talkin’ on the street? I thought Kamoshida was big, but peeps’re talkin’ about Kaneshiro _all over_ the place. An’ almost everyone knows about the callin’ card.” He crossed his arms and glanced left, then right, taking in the crowd. “Girls’ve been checkin’ me out all mornin’. Maybe they can sense the sheer awesome of a phantom thief.”

Akira slapped a palm onto his forehead.

Morgana popped his head out of the satchel. “Geez, Reaper. How unobservant are you?”

Ryuji scoffed at the small team leader, but looked over the transfer student. His eyebrows rose and he stood straighter. “Hey, why’re you wearin’ long sleeves? We’re—” The track star boggled. “Shit!”

“What?” Akira asked, his tone droll.

Ryuji’s feet slid apart, balance dropping in the subtle shift of an experienced runner about to set off. “We’re s’posed to switch to summer uniforms.” The track star looked the transfer student over again. “So why’s yours a long-sleeve?”

“I asked for it.” Akira said, looking back down to the shogi game on his phone. “I wear long sleeves, so when I got their uniform in the mail I asked for permission to wear long sleeves for medical reasons.” He crossed his arms, slid his lance up on his online shogi, and hit end turn. “You want me to tell your teacher you’re gonna be late?”

Ryuji spun around, but threw over his shoulder, “Not if I can get back soon enough!”

Wednesday, 8 June 2016  
Morning  
Shujin, Class 2-D

Usami-sensei attacked the chalkboard with a gusto the polar opposite of the topic of math she wrote on it. A few white chalk smudges marred her dark brown business-style suit, bending as she side-stepped to finish an array of numbers. Akira’s phone vibrated in his desk and he snatched for it before anybody else could notice.

Ryuji was the first to send a message to the group chat. [They don't know it's us, but doesn't it rock to hear people talk about how great the Phantom Thieves are?]

Akira let out a soft sigh as the other students scribbled. [Phantom Thief. And we're in class. Focus on class.]

[But we're on a roll!] Ryuji sent back with surprising speed. [All we need to do is decide who we're going to go after next.]

Ann’s ID blinked for a moment, three dots pulsing before she added, [You have someone already?]

[Well, no. But I'm psyched for the next one.]

Akira set down his pencil to rub his forehead for a moment, feeling a pulsing discomfort grow. [Curb your enthusiasm. We have class now. Next will be sweeping for another target.]

[Hell yeah!] Ryuji sent out.

Morgana looked up at Akira, one ear bent towards the teacher. “Do you think he gets it and just refuses to acknowledge a proper time and place?”

Akira muttered, “Maybe he just has too much caffeine.”

The guide-trapped-in-cat-form smirked. “Better not serve him any of Leblanc’s finest.”

Makoto joined the chat. [Akira's already pointed out this is class time, Sakamoto. At least I'm on the way back from the bathroom.]

A beat passed before Ann sent, [We learned plenty while we were in Mementos working our way up Kaneshiro's mafia. Maybe another request there could point us to somebody big?]

Ryuji was ready with the speed of an Olympian. [Good thinking, Ann!]

[I wouldn't mind,] Akira sent, bringing down his other hand to type faster. [People needing help might or might not lead to a Palace, but it's still someone in trouble.]

Usami-sensei snapped, “Kurusu-kun! If you’re too bored with matrices to keep your eyes up front, you must have already solved this one. Enlighten the class.”

Wednesday, 8 June 2016  
After School  
Shibuya, Untouchable

Cold air blasted Akira, a welcome change from air hotter and more humid than any mountain village he grew up in. Even having changed out of his school uniform didn’t provide much relief. The dark walls and dark camouflage pants near the front added an extra sense of relief from the bright bustle outside. Having to brave it twice to get to Leblanc for the junk from the bank only wore that much more at his stamina. Akira gave himself a moment to savor the sound of nothing but the fan in the ventilation.

“So he _is_ alive after all,” Iwai said from his seat behind the grating. He plopped his sport shooting magazine on the counter and sat up on his stool. “I thought you’d decided to ghost me after you got the dumb idea to follow Masa.”

Akira rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry I didn’t respond to your text, I was still trying to help… another friend.” He shook his head and set down his bag, laden down with Morgana and over a quarter kilogram of gold nameplates. The leader hopped out and sat down against the counter where the shop owner wouldn’t see him, letting Akira pull a paper-wrapped parcel of the gold plates. They hit the counter with a thud, one corner tearing through the brown paper.

Iwai pulled the wrapped stack closer and untied the twine binding it all together. He picked up one plate and held it up to the light. A golden glint reflected back on the realistic model guns covering the wall behind him. “You got any idea if they’re gold-plated or solid?”

“Scratching didn’t make a difference,” Akira said, clasping his gloved hands together. “I don’t have a scale or saw to cut and check the cross section.”

“Some genuine gold could really help get me into the black,” Iwai said, still turning the plate around. He took his magazine and plopped it on top of the untethered bundle of gold name plates, then stood and strode into the back. Plastic and metal shuffled for a minute, then the stubble-chinned man trotted back out to the front. “Seems real according to my scale. It’ll take me a few days to line up buyers for all of it. Don’t wanna dump all in one basket. How’s four thousand?”

“You’re lowballing me,” Akira said, slipping his hands into his pockets and letting himself slouch. “And what do you mean get _into_ the black?”

Iwai’s phone buzzed and he scanned the screen, then typed a reply. He adjusted the brim of his cap and looked back up to the transfer student. “Shibuya mafia charged _insurance_. Some months it would be more than my income. The military surplus and most’a that crap out there,” he pointed at the racks, “has almost no margin. Collectors an’… _buyers_ were where most of my money came from. And most of the former ain’t comin’ around since that asshole online claimed my stuff’s cheap knockoffs.” He took the magazine and dropped the plate onto the stack. “Prolly Tsuda.”

Akira scratched his neck. “I had no idea you were under Kaneshiro’s boot, too.”

Iwai stiffened, then switched his lollipop to the other side of his teeth and relaxed back on his stool. “That _was_ pretty weird news. Asshole had an empire here for years an’ then one day just turns ‘imself in? Must’a been runnin’ from something.” He straightened his cap. “The local collector just got nabbed yesterday. Cops just came ‘round to get a statement. Would be nice if that would bring my customers back.”

Akira scanned the shop owner. His long, baggy coat didn’t hide the slump of his shoulders. Or the weak goatee on his chin the tightness of the muscles in his neck. “You’ve got to deal with an unfair rep too, huh?”

“Too?” Iwai swung his lollipop to the other side, but whatever he was about to say fled when his phone buzzed again. He read for a couple seconds, then typed in another response and looked up. “Don’t tell me, I don’ wanna know. Five thousand for the bundle.”

Akira let his weight roll to his heels and crossed his arms. “The price of gold goes for thirty yen a gram. This is a quarter kilo.”

He let out a breath. “I’m not exactly an authorized commodity dealer. Five thousand.”

“Seven thousand five hundred.”

Morgana swayed on his feet as if preparing to pounce. “You get ‘em, Joker.”

Iwai straightened from his faux-relaxed slouch, a curl to the corner of his lip but a hard glint to his eyes. “You wouldn’t be bringin’ this stuff to a dude like me if you thought you could get market price anywhere. I’m not just offerin’ five thousand, I’m not askin’ where you got it.”

Akira pursed his lips. “_And_ you tell me all about Tsuda.”

Despite the transfer student’s expectations, Iwai leaned forward, elbow braced on the counter and steely gaze hard as the real metal. “You seem so… _ordinary_ at first glance. Hard to imagin’ a kid like you pullin’ a switcheroo on the cops. Or tailin’ Masa. You got balls, kid.”

Akira took off his glasses to wipe a lens. “Or I could just be stupid.”

Iwai burst out laughing. “Well, at least I know bein’ full’a yourself ain’t one of your vices.” He pulled his stool a little closer and opened the register, setting down a five thousand yen note. “Me an’ Tsuda go way back. Longer’n I’ve been fencing. Back when we were sworn brothers in the Hashiba clan.”

The name leaped from his memory. Well, from the memories of Kaneshiro he had to see so he could open up a set of impromptu stairs for the other Phantom Thieves down in the vaults of Kaneshiro’s bank. “One of the yakuza clans? I heard they scared the piss out of the Kaneshiros. Back in the day, anyway.” Akira leaned against the wielded grating separating the customers from the realistic gun models on the other side of the counter, folding his forearms together as he smirked. “I always knew you were a muscle head.”

Iwai chuckled. “The nerve of kids these days.” He re-settled his cap on his head. “Well, he’s still in, but I—”

The door swung open and a middle school student in a bland, navy-blue uniform walked in. “Hello,” he said, his voice cracking.

Iwai’s casual demeanor vanished. His back hunched and his fingers tapped on the counter as he shot a cool stare at the boy. “What the hell you doin’ all the way down here? This ain’t a study hall.”

Akira blinked. “Didn’t you just say customers were scarce?”

Iwai stood, leveling his index finger at the transfer student. “Shut your trap.” The finger pointed to the squeaky-voiced boy. “You should be studying for your entrance exams.”

Akira centered his glasses. “In _June_? Studying’s important, but not at the cost of the entire year. Pick up a new sport, learn a hobby, build connections so you have an outlet besides high school.”

The earnest kid’s shoulders squared and he looked to the shop owner with renewed enthusiasm. “Exactly. I just wondered if you could use some hel—”

“Go home and study,” Iwai barked, his expression stony.

A look of disappointment spread over Kaoru’s face, every line slack. Avoiding eye contact, he tugged his left coat sleeve straight and trudged out the door.

Akira glanced from the door to the shop owner, swiped the yen note, and reached for his leather travel satchel. The diminutive team leader leaped inside just in time to make the opening before the Akira shouldered the bag. The shop owner shouted after him, but Akira ignored it and jogged out. “Hey, kid!”

The boy stopped just a little too close to the streaming crowd of central street for comfort, but turned and looked back into the dank alley. He tilted his head a little, suspicion in the narrowness of his eyes but curiosity perking his ears. “Oh, you’re that guy who gave me back my wallet. How’d you hear my name?”

“I heard someone else say it. Probably one of your classmates, you two were talking as you got off the train,” Akira answered. The humid air pressed down, but the real feeling of pressure intensified as he neared the crowds streaming by on central street’s main thoroughfare. He wanted to approach and talk like a normal person, but the relentless cacophony of the crowd battered him and his heart thundered before he even got halfway.

Morgana popped out of the bag, paws wide on his shoulder. “What are you doing, Joker?”

Ignoring the team leader, Akira pointed a thumb over his shoulder at the door to Untouchable. “That your uncle?”

The boy tugged his navy blue school jacket straight, took one step closer, and squared his shoulders, looking the transfer student straight in the eye. “He’s my father,” the boy proclaimed.

Akira blinked. He’d seen kids puff up at family reputation or the things parents gave them, but few occasions of such simple, earnest association. The transfer student shifted his weight to his left foot. “Listen, uh… I may have sounded a little weird back then just deciding to talk to you same as your classmates. How would you prefer I call you?”

“Normally it would be Iwai, but you gave me back my wallet after somebody picked my pocket,” the kid said, thought shining behind his dark eyes. “I mean, you even bought me lunch just for pointing out that grocer’s. That’s more than most of my classmates have ever done, so Kaoru seems fine.”

Akira held his right hand below his belly and held out his satchel with his left to keep from throwing the small team leader around as he gave a bow. “Well you may call me Levy Tate, furniture mover.”

Kaoru spat, devolving into full-body-shaking laughter in record time. “That is so dumb!”

Morgana looked up at him from the dangling satchel. “He’s right about that.”

Akira stood up, the corners of his own mouth quirking up. “And yet you’re standing a little easier now, aren’tcha? You looked a little bummed back there.” He gave a mild shrug and slipped his satchel back over his left shoulder. “In my experience, nobody turns down a groaner.”

Kaoru straightened, chuckles subsiding. “I think you’re right. But what’s your name, really?” He scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t… really remember from last time.”

The transfer student fidgeted, knowing some people made things awkward when he introduced himself without his family name. Then again, that curly-haired upperclassman at Shujin took it, so why not try again? If the kid was Iwai’s son, it would be easy enough for him to ask later and giving a stage name after already being dumb and giving his real name before would just make things awkward later. “Akira. You might as well go on and study, but don’t knock yourself out.”

Adjusting his bland, navy blue jacket, the middle schooler’s smile dimmed a little. “I kinda wish there were more jokers like you around. Social types. It seems like all the kids in my class are all withdrawn. There’s this one really lonely kid in my school who spends all his time playing video games.” He tugged his left sleeve. “He just seems… kinda quiet and sad, but never talks to anyone.”

Akira shrugged. He avoided video games because hours could fly by when _he_ sat down for them. “Everyone’s got their way of getting through the day. Maybe for him he can figure out video games but not people.” He straightened the satchel strap over his shoulder. “Any likeness to your father?”

Kaoru straightened again as if challenged. “My dad is a great guy. He… may not be the most social, but he’s always there when you need him.” His phone buzzed and he pulled it out to check a text app. “Sorry, I got a group project. See you, Akira-san.”

Wednesday, 8 June 2016  
Early Evening  
Shibuya, Gigolo Arcade

Akira walked a burst of shots up from the chest to the face of another player in a face-covering mask. He ran out of bullets on the next player, making a sloppier dash at cover closer to the burned-out car his character crouched behind. He slapped the magazine well and stood, pulling the trigger before his character even rose. It didn’t do any good as the obnoxious cheater, 0wner, dodged half the bullets and somehow ignored the rest long enough to blast Akira’s character with a shotgun. When _Game Over_ floated out of the darkening screen, he debated whether he wanted to keep practicing. Games were expensive.

Alliance Force Assembled sang out of his phone and he slipped his phone out of his pocket, _Queen Togo_ on the caller ID. He swiped the call open and headed for the front where it was quieter. “Ian Fleecem of the Dewie, Screwum, and Howe law firm.”

Silence stretched on, though after a couple seconds he could _just_ hear her breathing as she ticked through something on her side. The sound effects of video games sounded all around him and he opened his mouth to explain when Hifumi jumped in first, “Oh! I get it!” He worried he annoyed her before a quiet chuckle just made it through the boisterous arcade around him. “You’re as creative as ever, Akira-kun.”

Without being able to see her, he couldn’t tell if she was just being polite or genuine. Still, no reason to argue the point over the phone. Once he reached the at-the-moment quiet pachinko machines at the front, he replied, “What can I do for you?”

“I finished an… errand for my mother. There’s a cozy second-hand bookstore in Jinbocho with a surprising variety of fiction, philosophy, and strategy books,” she said, sounding humdrum about whatever she was about to propose. “Even if _they_ don’t have a good book on math for your studies, I’m sure the one across the street will.”

Leaning against a machine, despite the fact that she couldn’t see him he gave a smile. “For Queen Togo? Anywhere, any time.”

She shared a chuckle and gave him the directions to Nagiuri.

He had to push and crowd-run his way to the train station in Shibuya, but the crowds thinned on the train up to the used bookstore in question. Akira expected the obvious professors and bespectacled nerds, but the number of women and children browsing the neighborhood suffused with bookstores surprised him.

A pair of girls in the dark, unfamiliar uniform of some other school walked past, their eyes glued to their phones. The one with long, curly hair shot a skeptical glance at her friend. “…but the head of a yakuza?”

The girl next to her pushed whatever article was on her screen at the other. “Not just the head. It’s like the whole clan disintegrated. Peeps selling drugs for years had a change of heart and turned themselves in. The Phantom Thief is real!”

His footsteps came lighter and he proceeded to the used shop Nagiuri. Hifumi leaned against the register counter, browsing a heavy, leather-bound tome with age-yellowed pages. She still wore what he assumed was her school uniform, a short-sleeved blue shirt with a laurel wreath-wrapped star on the left breast, a loose black-and-white victorian-style bow tie, and a pleated black skirt that drew his eye to her shapely legs despite today’s black leggings.

As soon as his eyes made a twice-over, he lingered back. Sure, his black long sleeves and khaki slacks helped him blend in elsewhere, but next to her perfect _everything_ he felt slovenly.

The team leader betrayed his position by popping out, paws on his shoulder as he scoped out the front of the used book store. “What’s the hold up, Akira? That looks like your math tutor right there.”

Hifumi’s deep green eyes snapped up and swiveled for only a moment before locking onto the guide-trapped-in-cat-guise. “Oh, you brought your cat.” Her lips turned up and she closed the tome, setting it aside with one hand while her other reached out for the team leader’s chin. “May I?”

Morgana let out a frustrated huff, but lingered long enough for her fingers to scratch his chin. When she retracted her hand, he glanced at Akira and explained, “I’m just going along with it to help you, Joker.”

“He’s very vocal.” A hesitant chuckle slipped out of her. “You know, for some reason I pictured you as a dog person when we first met.”

Akira shrugged, with the added benefit of getting the small team leader to return to the satchel. He took a moment to tear his eyes away from her and take in the humble bookstore. Bare bulbs hung down from wires dangling from the ceiling, and the stained tile floor had seen better days. Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined the walls. A dark wood table in the middle, books cramming the top and the boxes beneath. Pens and a display of common stationary sat next to the register at the front, but the entire rest of the humble space was crammed with books, in many cases stacks from the floor rising almost as high as his chest. Nicked paperbacks and worn hardbacks, leather-bound and a scattered range of fabric bindings. Not a single one following alphabetical order, year of publication, or any other order he could discern.

“Are you okay?” She leaned closer, then looked around. “Do you not like the smell?”

He blinked, tearing his eyes away from the disorganized mess, his hands twitching. “No, I love the smell of paper books. There’s something safe and yet inviting about it.” He reached out his hands as if ready to pick up a pair of tomes to get started. “But I am having a _really_ hard time keeping from trying to organize everything.”

Hifumi twitched and a laugh spilled out of her. “It’s not that kind of book store, Akira-kun.”

At the ease of her casual joy, he couldn’t help a smile from working its way across his own face. He glanced down to the book she set on a stack rising all the way from the floor to the level of the register counter. “Was that what you came here to find?”

“Oh, no. I was just passing the time until you arrived.” She flashed a toothy smile. “I had to wait for my porter to carry my books for me.”

He chuckled along with her, telling his heart to stop racing. This wasn’t a date, not that a nice girl like her would be interested in a guy like him. He shook his head and they paced inside the tiny store to browse.

He made it almost ten minutes before the master of shogi came around the table and put her hands on her hips. She cleared her throat, but something about her posture looked too theatrical for real annoyance. “Couldn’t wait to sort the place?”

Akira set down _The Voyage of the Dawn Treader_. His face burned. “Force of habit. I made it until seeing two books of a series by Sergei Lukyanenko in different places.” He stood and looked around. “I see a bunch of history, poetry, and something on planetary physics but no shogi strategy or math books.”

Hifumi flashed him a pleased smile that had his face heating up before his embarrassed blush even had a chance to fade. She handed him a pair of leather-bound books. “I didn’t see any math books either, but these are both on strategy so it’s not a total loss. Shall we try the next establishment?”

The next hour passed as they trawled through used book stores for hidden treasures. Much to Morgana’s amusement, Hifumi found Akira sorting books at three more of them, and listening in over more gossip about the Phantom Thief and Shibuya yakuza. Crossing the street to the next stretch of stores, the shogi queen came to a sudden stop when a sharp-eyed woman in a tan jacket stopped in front of her. She spoke with a frosty tone, “Hifumi.”

The girl drew her arm back as if ready to shield herself, but caught it and stood straight. “Oh, hello. Taking some time to walk after your match?”

The woman stepped even closer, her dark eyes narrowing more. “There _aren__’__t_ any matches this week.” Her eyes flicked up to Akira when he came to a stop beside her, giving him a glare before reforming a frosty gaze at Kanda’s shogi queen. “I see _you__’__ve_ got a new toy for the day. I suppose you’ve got your pick of them.”

Hifumi blinked, her mouth drifting open just a little as she struggled to put her composure back together. “M-my apologies. I forgot the others don’t have as complicated a schedule.”

The woman tugged her jacket closer and power-walked off.

His fingers tightened over the short stack of books in his hand, but before he could say anything, Hifumi reached up to straighten the victorian bow tie at her collar. She turned part-way to him, but her eyes avoided his. “I-I’m sorry about that. She’s my senior in the Shogi Federation. I-I defeated her in a title match two weeks ago.”

Taking in a deep breath, Akira just held in a snap back at the bitch fading into the crowd. “You have nothing to apologize for, Togo-san. Human beings judge as part of our fundamental nature. It’s a necessary thing for us to do things like use the right politeness to someone our senior. It only becomes a wrong thing when people like that get stuck on past events and dismiss others based on a problem with a different person.” He let his glare after the woman.

Hifumi shook her head, her long, dark hair catching the red evening light. Her once sparkling green eyes remained dimmed as they fastened on the sidewalk. “But s-she’s very friendly to everyone else. She was only unkind to you because you were with me.” Her shoulders hunched, she turned and grabbed the books with sudden motion. “I-I’m sorry for today. I should be going to check on father.”

She dashed into the crowd in the opposite direction from the rude woman. The transfer student took chase, his bag swinging on his shoulder.

Morgana popped his head out of the satchel and cried, “Stop rocking me like a pendulum, I’m gonna hurl!”

Akira slid to a stop and barked at him, “No throwing up in my bag!” By the time he looked up, Hifumi was gone. With the light fading and crowd heavy, he couldn’t spot any sign of the swift girl. All at once, his crowd jitters came back. The shortness of breath. The dizziness from so many people moving so many ways. His hands tightened on his travel satchel and he turned for the trains to try to make what little day he had left for studying.


	50. June 9th, Studio Day 1

Persona 5: Daywatch

Thursday, 9 June 2016  
Early Morning  
Aoyama-Itchome Station

Akira trotted up the stairs toward street level, salarymen and Shujin students choking the passage. The sound of hundreds of feet and dozens of hushed conversations echoed off the tiled walls.

A familiar stride fell into the mass of dark-haired Shujin students beside him. “Hey, Akira,” Mishima said with an automatic nod before a yawn crawled out of his mouth. “You’re a little early today.” He paused to look down at the book in the transfer student’s hand. “New novel?”

“Cook book, actually,” Akira side-stepped and slipped the book into the side of his school satchel next to Morgana. “Everybody else already has family members to get them started on the tradition of cooking, so I’ve got to play catch up.”

Mishima rubbed his neck. “That’s dedicated. All I do is eggs or miso every morning.” The crowd broke as they reached the street-level exit. “Speaking of dedicated, there have been a lot of thank-yous posted on the Phansite. A lot of people had the chance to repent thanks to what you all did.”

Akira let a hesitant smile spread over his face. “I see you’ve been reading about Catholicism. I better step up or you’ll leave me in the dust.”

The wind howled as the latest train pulled up, so the two lined up to wait for an opening.

Thursday, 9 June 2016  
Afternoon  
Television Station, Studio Two

Holding the looped heavy cable in one hand, Akira paced from the technician at the industrial outlet and around the back of the flimsy audience seating to an enormous camera, letting out length as he walked. Another station crew leaned against the camera so bulky he wouldn’t have been surprised to see it fitted between anti-air batteries on a battleship. He handed the end of the loop to the crew hand.

The transfer student heard Hashida-sensei before he saw the teacher step out of the halls. The teacher continued chatting with the station manager with a volume Akira associated with trying to talk over heavy traffic. Akira wondered if that was his equivalent of whispering. The teacher clapped his meaty hands together in a thunderous sound that hit the painted wood paneling intended to prevent echoes. Akira rolled his eyes but joined the students filling out a rectangular formation in front of the audience seating. Hashida looked over the assembled students with an inscrutable gaze for a moment before speaking in his usual bellowing tone, “The station manager tells me he is eager to see Shujin again for filming tomorrow. Excellent work, students. Acting Principal Takahashi has granted you leave without having to check back in at Shujin. Don’t cause trouble.” He swept his gaze over the assembly, everybody tense with eagerness to get going. “Dismissed!”

“Yes, Hashida-sensei!” the students shouted in concert before breaking up.

Akira couldn’t see any grime on his hands, but felt it anyway and headed to the nearest bathroom to wash.

He spotted Ryuji heading to the sinks from the inside as the transfer student came from the outside. The track star whined, “Effin’ slave labor is what this is.” He fastened his pants and waved his hands under the faucet to get water running. “Yo, Akira.”

Akira nodded to the track star and, seeing the side-to-side motions weren’t triggering the faucets, tried up-and-down. Water flowed and he began scrubbing. “Truth. Serfdom never left Japan. The big-shots just wear suits and sit on corporate boards now.” As they stepped out, the transfer student jerked a thumb back at the bathroom. “You at least feel better?”

Ryuji kicked at the linoleum floor. “Nah.”

Ann rounded a corner, the pace of her rapid walk slowing. “Good, there you guys are.” She came to a stop less than an arm’s length away. “At least when I’m with a couple classmates the managers stop trying to ambush me for ‘photo specials’. Like I don’t know what that means.”

Morgana popped out of the transfer student’s satchel, paws gripping the shoulder. “Those fiends tried to take advantage of the maiden of the Phantom Thieves?”

Ryuji shot a smirk at the team leader. “Oof. Way to throw Makoto-senpai under the bus.”

Morgana’s blue eyes widened. “T-that’s not what I meant!”

As if just to tease him, Ann flipped a voluminous pigtail off her shoulder. “At least tomorrow’s just sitting in on a studio audience.”

Akira straightened his long sleeves. “Since we don’t have to check back in to Shujin, is there anything in the area to do? I’m starting to get a feel for Tokyo, but I’ve never been up here before.”

Tail swishing as if he scored some victory, Morgana smirked. “You were gawking at that pancake place.”

“I was not,” Akira whined, about to launch into a counter before somebody wearing a beige peacoat dashed behind him and into the bathroom. The transfer student glanced back, then shook his head. “I guess some people don’t get warning signals from their bladders. Anyway, how about that park in business town?”

Ann held a finger to her chin, those frosty blue eyes swiveling up for a moment. “Business… Oh! You’re probably talking about the amusement park around Dome Town.”

Ryuji brightened, straightening out of his usual slouch. “Oh, yeah! Ma took me to one of the baseball games in the stadium – the round part in the middle – the day we finished the move. Said she wanted to have good memories of our own in Tokyo.”

Akira forced a mild smile over his face at the casual ease. How could Ryuji be so chill about a forced move? Even if it was his mother’s decision, he knew he’d have very short and loud words to say about his father if he let the family situation get to that point. “I’ve never been to an amusement park before.”

Ryuji’s brown eyes widened and he slipped his hands out of his pockets. “_Never_? Dude, we gotta get you caught up on all the adrenaline-junkie bait in Dome Town.” His eyes slid down to the team leader’s and he let loose a smirk. “Tough luck, catboy.” He held his hand flat about midway up his chest. “I don’t think you make the height requirement.”

Morgana’s tail stood up, the end twitching, and his claws sank through the fabric. “I’ll show you! Your heroic leader will conquer every one of those scary rides!”

Ryuji burst out laughing. “You don’t go on rides to show how macho you are, you do ‘em for the thrill of feelin’ your body goin’ fast as a train. The wind whippin’ through your hair an’ the harness tuggin’ you left an’ right like a baby in the hands of a British nanny.”

Akira waved a hand in warding, his grey eyes flicking to the diminutive team leader’s form on his shoulder. “Well skip that part. You almost threw up in my bag yesterday.”

The men’s room door swung open and the young man in the peacoat strode out. Now that he moved slower than a sprint, Akira had the chance to examine him. His fashionably shaggy brown hair lit a pang of jealousy and despite his run and just coming out of the bathroom, his crisp uniform was as immaculate down to the ironed creases in his dark trousers. He tugged dark brown gloves back over his hands, and his red eyes fell on the transfer student. “Ah, Amamiya-san. What a surprise to see you here.” His gaze jumped to his teammates, flicking down to Ryuji’s pants and Ann’s skirt before coming back up to their eyes. “You three are Shujin students?”

Ryuji chuffed. “What’s it to the Defective Detective?”

Ann pressed her palm against her face. “_Ryuji_.”

Too late, Akechi drew himself to his full height. Not much taller than Ryuji, but his countenance flipped from a smile as wide and unwavering as any fake idol to a hot glower and tense shoulders. He took a sudden step forward, driving the track star back to the wall. “Then why don’t you tell me how many court appearances you’ve made? How many hours you’ve spent filing legal motions? How many doors you’ve knocked on or social media feeds you’ve trawled for plutocrats no attorney would prosecute?”

Akira glanced between them, then took Ryuji’s side, but left his focus on the track star. “Where do _you_ know Akechi-san from?”

The dyed blond swallowed under the sudden ire of the red-eyed sentinel. “The chicks at ma’s clinic _always_ had the lobby tuned in whenever he’s on TV.”

Leaning against the wall, Akira slipped his hands in his pockets and looked to the red-eyed student detective. He pasted a goofy smile on and loosened his stance. “You never told me you were some kind of celebrity.”

Akechi stepped back, rubbing the back of his head with a gloved hand, back to the faux-bashful smiles. “Oh, nothing grand. I’ve only appeared on television a couple times. It’s necessary to put pressure on specific communities in the scientific, business, or judicial sectors.”

Ann held a fist on her hip. “Well, whatever.” She gestured her thumb towards the door. “C’mon country boy, you’ve got a whole new part of Tokyo to make memories in!”

Akechi’s smile strained and he looked on. “You’re very fortunate, you know. I had to skip lunch and breakfast, so a few pancakes would _really_ hit the spot right now.”

Eyebrows rising almost to his dyed, unkempt hair, Ryuji scratched his scalp. “Huh?”

A gurgle floated out from Akechi and the unofficial detective covered his stomach with a gloved hand. His wooden smile wavered, but held. “Well… I have briefings to attend and papers to file.” He stepped between the others and disappeared down the hall to the studio offices.

Ann waited until he was gone before she turned an arched eyebrow to the transfer student. “Amamiya?”

Akira shrugged and flashed her a toothy grin. “You thought the only names I had were Kenny Dewit?”

Thursday, 9 June 2016  
Late Afternoon  
Dome Town

Akira and Ryuji left the roller coaster at a slow trot, the former helping the latter walk. Both glared at Ann when she came skipping out from behind them. Pop music pumped through the speakers with enough volume to drown out most of the conversations in the crowds, though the cohesive beat and melody felt like less an assault on Akira’s ears than the cacophany in Shibuya Station.

Ann paused, and for a brief moment Akira noticed her hair didn’t stand out against the bright colors of the amusement park structures. She flashed them an eager smile. “C’mon, guys. That was only the third ride. We’ve got more roller coasters to conquer!” She finished with a fist pump.

Ryuji took a seat on the bench next to Akira’s bag, taking the look of commiseration from the team leader sitting inside it. “For real, my stomach’s tryin’ to send lunch back up.”

Akira set himself down on the other side of the satchel. “Shouldn’t have had three hot dogs as soon as you came.”

Morgana shot a quick glare at the transfer student. “Don’t provoke him when he’s that green and looking _right at me_, Joker.” He swung a worried look back on the dyed-blond.

Ann crossed her arms, thrusting her hip out to the side. The raise to her eyebrows drew a little away from the tension in her posture. “I just want to have a proper celebration for Kaneshiro’s change of heart.”

Morgana’s ear twitched. “We should probably have Nightrider with us for that, Lady Ann.”

She cringed, but the reminder gave Akira the thought to call her about it. A spasm shot through his neck as he pulled his phone out and he paused to rub the stricken spot. “When you said these rides were gonna be like getting shaken by a British nanny, I didn’t think you meant straight up.”

Ryuji pressed a hand over his stomach. “They ain’t _that_ bad. I just should’na ate right before.”

When the team leader shot him a glare, Akira shrugged, then rubbed a muscle twinge. “Well, if we’re going to celebrate, might as well have everyone here. Makoto-senpai earned it too.” He tapped and listened to the phone ring.

And ring.

And ring. Akira shrugged and closed the call. “Busy.”

Ann shrugged. “Think it’s student council work?”

The eerie strings and wind instruments of David Arnold’s theme for the Goa’uld resonated from his phone. Akira swiped to answer. “Wayne Deer, where can we deliver your sleigh?”

“Oh, come on. You just called!” Makoto said, her breath just a little quick even if she kept her volume hushed. “Is everything okay?”

Akira rubbed his neck, still feeling stabbing tension. “Social studies trip is finished. We’re at Dome Town, and Ann brought up that we never did celebrate Kaneshiro’s changed heart.”

He could _just_ hear Makoto’s footsteps through the halls of Shujin. “Well, isn’t Ann still holding onto the briefcase his treasure turned into?”

Akira looked up. “You sold that briefcase, right?”

Ryuji grinned, a lot of the green fading from his visage. “Oh, we hit jackpot with that thing. I talked my man into a hundred fidy.”

Morgana shook his head, ears flapping against his skull for a moment. “So what was in it?”

Ann’s face twisted into a frown. “Monopoly money with Kaneshiro’s face on every note.” One corner of her lips curled up as her azure eyes slid to Ryuji. “You should’ve seen the look on his face when the guy popped open the case and he thought it was full of legit cash.”

Ryuji slumped, his color clearer but regret etched into every line. “Would’ve been enough for ten lifetimes of beef bowls.”

Akira set his phone to speaker so he wouldn’t have to relay conversation.

The sound of the door to the roof swinging closed clanged from the phone line. “After Kamoshida, it seemed like all of Shujin came alive like it was hiding in the dark before. The effects are even wider in Shibuya, partly because of all the other hearts we changed along the way.”

Finger twirling through the tip of a pigtail, Ann gave a shallow smile. “That’s true. If saving Shibuya was such a big deal, we’d better have a party to match.”

Akira frowned, rubbing his teeth on his lower lip. “I’m not against celebrations, but I don’t like big, extravagant productions. Maybe something none of us have done in a while? I keep hearing about good ramen places in Ogikubo.”

Ryuji leaned against the concrete walls of the planter behind them. “Maaan, ramen’s good but that’s a once-a-month thing. We gotta make this somethin’ special!”

“There’s…what about a nice sushi place?” Makoto said, a strange guarded quality to her tone.

Morgana stood up, starts in his eyes. “What a spectacular suggestion from our newest member!” He closed his eyes, his tail still swishing back and forth. “Roe, tuna…”

Ryuji clutched his stomach. “Ugh. Please don’ talk ‘bout the food right now.”

Makoto let out a small cough. “Oh, would sushi be a problem? I didn’t know anybody had an allergy to fish or—”

“It’s fine,” Akira said, waving to dismiss the concern despite her not being able to see. “Ryuji just ate a bunch of food cart grub right before we went on a couple roller coasters. So when do we do this? We get off early tomorrow, too.”

“Maybe _you_ do,” she said, the grump slipping out of her aloof tone. “Seniors are still in exams all day tomorrow, and there are more exams on Saturday so I’d rather make sure I have time set aside to study.”

Ann let her hand down, her shoulders slumping. “I’m on a shoot Sunday afternoon.”

Akira glanced from the model to runner. “Well, we do still have the rest of the day after classes on Saturday.”

Ryuji shrugged.

Makoto’s tone brightened. “I wouldn’t mind a bit of break after school. I’ll try not to wear out too much on exams, but I should be able to make it on Saturday.”

Morgana purred. “Then it’s decided. The Phantom Thieves will savor succulent sushi on Saturday.”

Akira straightened his glasses. “I guess it’s mostly decided. Keep an eye on the chat room tomorrow and we’ll nail down the place.”

“Right,” Makoto said, sounding more chipper than before. “I’m going to be studying late tonight, so have a good evening.” The line closed with a click.

Akira put his phone away and looked to the runner still looking just a little pale in the face. “You have nobody to blame but yourself for eating before getting on.”

“More harping isn’t going to take away his upset stomach,” Morgana reproached. When Ann’s eyes widened at the rebuke, he puffed out his chest. “Well, it’s the responsibility of a leader to maintain the integrity of the team. Joking is okay, but we can’t let things get too serious.” He looked up at the runner. “But this isn’t the first time you’ve done something physically… okay, maybe today wasn’t _dangerous_, but risky when you didn’t need to, Reaper. Joker has been reckless as long as I’ve known him, but I know why he does it. What are _you_ trying to prove?”

Ryuji scratched his head. “Damn, dude. You just brought things straight from party town to downertown.”

The small team leader glanced at Akira, his small blue eyes locked onto the transfer student’s steel grey behind glasses. After a beat, Morgana glanced back to Ryuji. “Joker’s gotten better after he started going to his church. I guess religion really helps some people. I just want to make sure you’ve got something like that too, Reaper. We’ve all seen embarrassing weaknesses of each other. The Phantom Thieves should be the one group of people you don’t need to pose in front of. Our enemy has to be Shadows, not other humans.”

Akira stood so he could speak with Ann in hushed tones without interrupting the others. “Hey, I almost forgot about Mishima. He helped us out a ton, you think you could bring him to the party?”

Ann jerked back, pink dusting her cheeks. “W-what?” She swallowed and straightened. “Oh, right. Uh…” She looked down. “I don’t think so. He’s still been avoiding me.”

“Still?” Akira pushed up his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. “Damn, I was going to talk to him but forgot between all the upset with Kaneshiro and the social studies trip. Sorry.”

She shook her head, her shoulders still drooping and eyebrows drawn taught. “No, he’s _my_ friend. And he only sits, like, three seats away. I’ve had tons of chances to talk to him if I hadn’t been too embarrassed.”

Akira rubbed the back of his neck.

Before he could say anything, Ryuji cleared his throat. “So, uh, I’m gonna go ‘round talkin’ with Monamona.” He gave a smile too wide, something too expectant in his eyes for comfort. “Peace out.”

Morgana sat down in the runner’s school satchel, held at his side. “I’ll meet you at Leblanc. Don’t you do anything to besmirch Lady Ann’s honor.”

“Morgana!” they both shouted, faces tinged with red.

Ryuji gave the transfer student a wink, then disappeared into the crowd.

Akira straightened his glasses. They had the wrong idea, but no reason not to put time to good use. “So… Everything going okay with you two? Or at least with you? I’m sorry I haven’t really been there to help with things lately.”

“No, everything’s okay,” she blurted. She clasped her hands behind her back. “Even besides your family hangups, I know you’ve got tons of stuff going on. I don’t want to make any more trouble for you.”

Most days and with most people he would have taken the out to leave on neutral terms. But Ann was with him almost since day one, and had a strong enough soul to leave Kamoshida alive to repent. “Ann… I’ll drop it if you want, but… neither of us have a lot of people to go to. You backed me up with Kamoshida and Kaneshiro. I want you to know I’ll back you up too.”

Her face twisting as a smile fought with embarrassment, she finally let out a breath and unclasped her hands to let them swing at her sides. “Let’s get something to eat.”

“My treat,” he said, and followed her to one of the food courts.

Once there, Ann sat with a large cup of green ice chilling some fancy berry flavor of soda. “So, uh…” Her eyes cast down to the miniscule round table between them. “I hate how you never really understand how much you treasure something until it’s gone.” She held up her free hand. “Not that Shiho’s gone! But… things have only been getting more tense. I used to be able to talk to her about anything, but never imagined that I’d want to talk to her about falling for her boyfriend.” She traced her finger over a napkin on the plastic table top. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m just making the same mistake again. I took so long to apologize for not being there for her with Kamoshida.” She glanced up to him, but could only hold eye contact a fleeting moment. “You remember how Kamoshida threatened to take Shiho off the team if I didn’t…?”

Akira nodded, glad she didn’t finish that sentence. He saw that in too many nightmares already. “I hope you know by now that Kamoshida betrayed you both with your own kindness. She cared too much about you to just walk away from it all, and you cared too much about Suzui-san’s dreams to walk away from her.”

She gave a twisted, hesitant smile, twirling a finger through her pigtail. “That’s true. Now that I’m out of it, I’m sure he never would’ve risked that damn trophy by benching her.” She gave a tight smile, a spark in her eyes like a blizzard’s swirl. “I should’ve _dared_ him to do it.” The spark extinguished. “But now I’m scared about how Shiho’s going to get through this.” Her lips turned down. “Shiho was always the strong one.”

“Hey,” Akira said, his legs tensing. “Don’t discount yourself. Even with Morgana and Ryuji, we’d never have made it to Kamoshida if it wasn’t for you. Knowing when to hold back is a quality, too. You didn’t go berserk during that fight and kill him.”

Ann barked out a laugh, but her eyes looked like she wanted to cry. “Come on, Akira. Remember when it all started? The day of the volleyball rally, you didn’t even know who Kamoshida was but you still had the strength to chase me down when Yuuki got hurt. You were willing to start all that just for him.” She looked down, her finger tracing paths on the napkin again. “I was so weak I didn’t even believe Shiho’s ability outweighed Kamoshida’s authority. I felt like I was alone, like even Yuuki was too far to truly trust.”

Akira scratched his scalp. “Well, I never did know when to put something down or quit.” He steepled his fingers. “So you need me to club Mishima over the head and drag him over so you two can sort things out?”

Ann chuckled. “That’s so _you_, Akira. I can’t even take names like ‘prissy bitch’ or ‘Kamoshida’s girl’ without feeling my heart tremble.” She paused to drink through the neon-pink straw. “It took you, Morgana, and Ryuji to help me take Kamoshida down. I could never have done that on my own.” Her hand clenched the napkin. “I want to change that. If Personas are the power of the heart, I wanna have the strongest one, the dancer who is strong enough to save anyone. But I don’t even really understand what ‘strong’ is.”

Akira stood and reached a hand at her. She looked from his hand to his face several times. He cleared his throat and held his arm straighter. “Then let’s figure it out together.”

Smiling, Ann left her cup on the table and stood, clamping a firm hand on his own. When they separated she picked up her large cup of berry soda. “I’ll start by… not getting refills. That’ll mean I’m strong enough to resist, right?”

Akira felt a drop of sweat trickle down his neck. “Uh…”


	51. June 10th, Television Condemnation

Persona 5: Daywatch

Friday, 10 June 2016  
Afternoon  
Television Studio

The crew rushed about as everybody brought things to their proper place for the recorded show. Lights blazed down on the glittering set, leaving the audience in comparative darkness. One of the men with a clipboard checked his watch, then made a swinging motion at the cameramen with his free arm and counted down from seven seconds.

A busty woman with a matching navy blue skirt and coat smiled into the camera when the countdown ended. “After two calling card incidents and a huge police sweep through Shibuya, we’re proud to bring you Senior Political Analyst Hashimoto-sensei, who taught Psychology at Hitotsubashi University for eleven years and consulted on more than thirty criminal profiling cases.”

A wrinkled man with snow-white hair and a wiry moustache gave a brief bow in his seat. “Please, I’m not a teacher anymore. It’s my honor to provide my psychology expertise to police investigations.”

The cute announcer smiled. “And our returning young guest is Akechi-kun, a high school senior and consultant for the police. He’s famous – or maybe infamous – for disputing the cause of quite a few mental breakdowns, and claiming links between mental disturbance cases and Apathy Syndrome.” She paused to look straight into the main camera with a smirk. “Let me tell you, girls, the junior detective’s even easier on the eyes in person than in photos. It’s not just his work with investigations all over Honshu that’s made him stunningly popular.”

Akechi Goro brushed his hair away from his brow, catching the light just enough to leave a glint. “Oh, how embarrassing. I’d much rather be remembered for my investigation linking the train conductor breakdown in April and an almost identical mental shutdown in Chief Financial Officer Nakamura of Duckburger. And I would like to point out that Apathy Syndrome, despite its regression ten years ago, has been documented prior to the more infamous outbreak in 2001.”

“Talk of the Phantom Thief”,” the announcer interrupted, “has taken the internet by storm. The yakuza boss Kaneshiro turned himself in shortly after calling cards were left by the Phantom Thief.”

Akechi nodded, his posture relaxing but something about his gaze into the camera sharpening. “Indeed, a very theatrical move indicative of a need for public attention. I have to wonder why they would resort to such grandstanding if they really are capable of stealing ‘distorted desires’ as the calling cards claimed.”

The professor crossed his arms, his dark, striped business suit creasing. “When a yakuza boss is dethroned, he is most often pushed past the point of no return by a rival yakuza clan. It isn’t even unexpected for neighboring yakuza to keep quiet about their involvement in it as they move in to seize territory for themselves.”

The announcer straightened her coat. “So you’re saying that Kaneshiro turning himself in was motivated by encroaching rivals instead of the mysterious Phantom Thief?”

Hashimoto scoffed. “Ma’am, I am a _rationalist_. The notion of being able to steal a heart is simply absurd.”

Akechi let a faint frown slip through his cheery façade for just a moment. “It is unusual, but is it not the same claim made in the calling cards targeting Kamoshida Suguru in April?”

Hashimoto kept his eyes on the center camera instead of turning his head to Akechi. “Perhaps, but if some locals spied Kamoshida and learned of his recurring abuse and sexual misconduct, they could have simply been lucky about posting those cards before he broke down.”

Akechi pursed his lips, gears whirling behind his eyes. “I cannot falsify such a hypothesis with the limited evidence we have, but neither should we dismiss the possibility out of hand. It is a mistake to theorize before you have data. That fosters the temptation to twist facts to fit theories instead of theories to facts.”

The announcer beamed a bright, fake smile into the cameras. “There’s been a lot of debate online about whether the Phantom Thief is real. And who he is.” She shot a sly look at the center camera. “Or if it’s a mysterious she.”

Several males in the audience hooted.

Ann leaned back in her chair, a smile on her face as she clasped her hands over her knee.

The announcer turned back to the show guests. “The Phantom Thief caught quite the imagination of the internet even if the mainstream populace has yet to come to any conclusions.”

Akechi’s eyes narrowed and he looked into the camera. “Many of his supporters claim he is a hero of justice. I would _like_ to believe that, but the Phantom Thief is engaging in vigilantism where he acts as judge and jury without oversight. The fact that he has not overtly killed anybody yet is possibly the only reason the police have not mobilized a manhunt.”

Hashimoto gave one sharp nod. “Quite. We have a criminal justice system for a reason. It is not just to punish offenders, but also to have people accountable. Even the police and judges are subject to review. But a criminal skulking about in the dark?”

The announcer settled on the professor. “Some people, especially the victims of Kamoshida, claim the Phantom Thief helps the confessors abandon their evil ways.”

Hashimoto’s dark eyes narrowed. “The human mind is not a switch to be toggled, it is like a city. Complex and ever changing, but built on a firm foundation. The _only_ means of changing a person’s behavior over such a short period of time is some very brutal form of coercion.”

Ryuji, sitting next to Akira, let a low growl rumble out of his throat. “Those shit-heads don’t know nothin’.”

Akira snapped a _Shh!_ at him.

The announcer gave a fake smile. “So tell me, if you met the Phantom Thief, what would you do?”

Hashimoto sniffed. “You can’t meet something that doesn’t exist. You might as well ask what I would do if I met Santa Claus.”

Akechi steepled his fingers together on his lap. “Based on the similarity of the calling cards and the change of hearts of the two known cases, it does seem more likely to me that there _is_ a Phantom Thief. However, especially with my current contract with the police, I would have to arrest him for trial in a court of law. He would face far less consequence than Kaneshiro, but justice is over everyone or it is over no one.”

The crowd stirred, but before the murmurs could grow to shouting a ‘quiet’ sign beside the camera lit up.

The professor gave a brief, subtle nod. “Quite, quite. If somebody _is_ coercing those people. It’s retribution, not justice.”

“Still a smaller measure than any one of the hundreds of crimes Kaneshiro has committed.” Akechi’s eyes narrowed, his face animating for the first time as he said, “However, both the freedom to choose their own actions as well as the responsibility to own up to the consequences rest on every member of a healthy nation. Programming makes robots, not people.”

The announcer clapped her hands over her crossed knees. “What a charismatic philosopher. Kaneshiro was suspected of participation in many crimes in Shibuya. Even the earlier detractors of the Phantom Thief seems to think he is a hero of sorts, if a dark one.”

Hashimoto waggled a finger as if he brandished a dangerous weapon with the gesture. “But we can not let whimsy dictate our actions. In the unlikely event a Phantom Thief exists, he is certainly a criminal just the same as the victims so far.”

Murmuring spread through the audience, one voice standing out from the others, “He’s got a point. Who’s got more to gain by goin’ after a criminal than another criminal?”

Ryuji clenched his fists.

Akira slapped a hand over Ryuji’s, his fingers clamping down even as a faint growl leaked out of his own throat.

The announcer brandished another expected smile at the camera. “I could listen to you for days, but now it’s getting to the time for our audience participation. Everyone, please press your button if you think the Phantom Thief is just!” Clicking proceeded for several seconds, before an on-stage LED screen lit up. “Twenty-five percent. Your thoughts, Hashimoto-san?”

“I think all this Phantom Thief mania is only distracting the already burdened police department with the search for the culprit who is actually behind these suspicious ‘changes of heart’.”

Looking down from the on-stage screen, Akechi focused on the announcer. “I’m surprised the response is _that_ high, given the number of adults who share Hashimoto-san’s hesitation to even believe he exists.”

The announcer picked up a microphone and walked into the aisle through the audience, stopping at the second row. “What do you think of the Phantom Thief?”

The snaggle-toothed man looked surprised for a moment. “Well, it makes sense that he’s a criminal just like those two men. I mean, criminals wouldn’t hesitate to bribe or blackmail, right?”

The announcer gave an obligatory nod and paced near Akira before stopping and holding the microphone out to him. “What about you? What do you think of the Phantom Thief?”

Remembering Makoto’s words in the bank, Akira straightened. “They bring justice where even the law can’t reach.” He glared at Hashimoto in particular. “Or fails to.”

Akechi clasped his gloved hands, a lightening of his posture. “What surprising conviction.”

The announcer turned back to the stage and spoke into her microphone. “Quite a turn away from your opinion that the Thief should be charged and tried.”

Hashimoto pointed a finger at Akira’s general area. “And if that friend next to you had a sudden change of heart, would the Thief still be a hidden hero?”

Akira’s fists clenched and he fought to keep a snarl off his face since the two wing cameras held on him. “The Phantom Thief targets criminals, not casual citizens.”

Akechi smiled, and Akira could’ve sworn he saw sorting and filing happening behind those bright brown eyes. “No hesitation.”

Hashimoto sneered. “The _innocence_ of youth.” He looked to the junior investigator. “Before we discuss whether the Phantom Thief is just or not, may I bring up another point I believe has received too little attention?”

Akechi nodded as the announcer returned to her seat on the stage.

“_How_ does he change hearts?” Hashimoto paused to straighten his dark sleeves. “If a hardened yakuza boss can overnight decide he has wronged the city, what happens when the Phantom Thief decides that the president of the local bank is being too selective when choosing who to approve loans for?”

Ryuji’s lips bared his teeth and he snapped not quite deep enough under his breath, “Who the shit cares how we’re doing it? Ain’t makin’ two bad guys confess proof enough the Phantom Thieves are just?”

Akira took off his glasses to rub at the bridge of his nose and sighed.

Akechi straightened his gloves. “As I have already brought up, the Phantom Thief only appeared to target well-known criminals. How can we be sure the Phantom Thief is just when he only targets publicly convenient criminals and makes grandiose public claims like a needy actor? If his aim is truly justice, why hasn’t he targeted somebody behind a ring of fraud or some such hidden activity that strikes hundreds of vulnerable people every day? All we have seen so far is public grandstanding.”

Hashimoto gave a sharp nod. “Even Kamoshida appears to have been an open secret maintained through fear. The only question is how much the faculty cooperated to hush things. Their principal received ten years for a mountain of conspiracy and obstruction charges. And the claims that Kaneshiro had a change of heart instead of fleeing from rival yakuza. Ha!”

The audience burst into muttered speculation. Ryuji curled his fists and started to stand before Akira clamped a hand on the runner’s nearest wrist. That ‘Quiet’ sign lit again.

Akechi said, “Extracting a confession was used by people who thought they were doing good things – going back to the magistrates under Toyotomi who tortured Christians into confessions of sedition because they were afraid of losing the Japanese way of life. They showed the world how weak and fearful that Japan was. We _cannot_ let ourselves go back to that. _Forcing_ a confession is _not_ justice.”

Akira settled his glasses, his mind lost in thought to the end of the filming. It wasn’t until Ryuji stood that the transfer student realized the audience was dispersing.

Ryuji led the transfer student and Ann to the side. “Hey, buddy, I’m sorry about that back there. I know I’m s’posed to keep a low profile. I just couldn’t stand how those two jerks made us sound like baddies.”

Ann crossed her arms and shifted her weight to the foot closer to the transfer student. “Hashimoto-sensei might be like most adults out there, but Akechi hit kinda close to home.”

“Yeah,” Akira said. “I haven’t even been in the Catholic Church for long, but one of the most sacred things that exists is free will. _God_ doesn’t manipulate human free will, even when we do wrong things. We act and have to pay for sins.”

Ryuji crossed one foot over the other. “C’mon. If we hadn’t gone after Kamoshida, he’d still be abusin’ kids at Shujin and playin’ creepo at Ann. Nobody stood up for you, and if it wasn’t for us nobody’d have stood up for Suzui-san.” He elbowed the transfer student. “And you’d have been kicked out just ‘cause he didn’t wanna give you a chance. Now it’s like Shujin’s _alive_.”

Morgana looked out from the satchel hanging on Akira’s shoulder. “Right, Reaper. He can say all he wants about justice from the outside, but he wasn’t there to see how bad Kamoshida was, or how things improved after his change of heart.” When a beat of silence passed without response from the transfer student, he batted at Akira’s ear to make him twitch. “It’s not like we killed anyone. Even Kaneshiro _chose_ to turn himself in.”

Ryuji crossed his feet over each other the other way. “Yeah, man.” He crossed his feet the other way.

Akira looked at Ryuji’s footing and sighed. “Dude, just go.”

The track star scrambled for the bathroom.

Ann shifted her weight away, a frown on her face. “I can’t say Ryuji’s wrong, but I notice you’ve been quiet too. What’s on your mind?”

Akira uncrossed his arms and straightened his school jacket sleeves. “I was just thinking about what Akechi-san said about extracting confessions. I remember Father Motoori mentioning that in Europe, they had inquisitions that were about as bad as the forced confessions Akechi mentioned. Free will is a sacred thing in the Church, and with Kamoshida and Kaneshiro… how different is what we’re doing?” He glanced to the team leader poking his head out of the satchel. “We may be fighting in a battle in the center of the mind, but isn’t it still fighting them until they say what we want?”

Morgana’s ears curled around like he wanted to hiss. “I don’t think so. When we were down in the vaults in Kaneshiro’s bank, didn’t you say that you saw a bunch of his memories?”

“Mm-hm.” Akira nodded.

“Didn’t you say there was something weird in there with him?”

Akira held his chin, thinking for a moment. “A voice talking to Kaneshiro. Can’t figure out who it was, though, because most of the memories had all different people.”

Ann checked the time on her phone, then slipped it back into her purse. “Well, it’s getting about time to get on the bus.” She trotted away through the fast deserted studio room.

Akechi, still in his formal button-down dress, stepped down from the stage and slipped around the camera to close on the transfer student.

Akira smirked. “Well look at the little ambusher, springing to the attack at last.”

Akechi gave a show smile. “Same as during the show. You certainly didn’t hold back.”

“To hell with walking on eggshells to play politically correct.” Akira crossed his arms, scanning the junior investigator for signs of his real motives. “If I see it, I call it. Good or bad.”

Akechi’s smile faded, though his stance loosened. “You’re rather blunt, but nobody could accuse you of not being genuine. I’m glad I was able to catch you today. I wanted to thank you face-to-face for the debate you gave.” His smile vanished and he let out a brief breath. “I was expecting a little more actual debate and less steered conversation. Advancement cannot occur without both thesis and antithesis.”

Akira’s face twisted in thought. “Richard Fenyman?”

Akechi chuckled, hints of a real smile about his eyes. “You _are_ well read. I was thinking of Hegel, myself, but I suppose Fenyman said essentially the same thing even if his focus was on physics.” He let out a heavier breath, his shoulders falling. “So few people are willing to consider the possibilities and grapple with a problem.”

Akira shrugged. “Managers are used to being listened to, and workers are used to being told what to do. For all the praise of duty to society, when that gets out of hand we have a society of living dead.”

Akechi let out a mirthful chuckle, but there was a piercing quality to his gaze. “That’s certainly one way of putting it. I realize we may sometimes be on opposite sides of an issue, but would you mind if I stopped by a little more often for some coffee and conversation?”

Adjusting the satchel straps, Akira stretched out his shoulder. “I would say yes, but I’m trying to get out more and find a better-paying job. A few of my friends have been asking for help, and I try to be there to help them out of trouble spots when I can.”

Akechi held an analytic gaze for a moment. “A noble sentiment.” He reached into his pocket and handed over a business card. “If you have a moment, feel free to give me a call. Or maybe I’ll see you over a cup of that fine coffee.”

Flipping the card over, Akira turned it back and pocketed the card. “Hm. You did point me to a good investigative journalist. I suppose I can lend an ear a few times.”

Akechi beamed a convincing but still show smile. “Glad to hear it.” He turned and paced through a door against the back-stage area.

Morgana stuck his head out of the bag, watching Akechi’s retreating figure. “I still don’t think we can trust him.”

Akira headed to the door out. “Who ever said anything about trusting him? There’s a difference between leaving the door open and leaving the porch light on.”

Morgana blinked, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

“It’s called networking. You need to lay the groundwork for people to want to do favors for you in the future.” Akira pushed open the door and joined the formation for last head-count.

Friday, 10 June 2016  
Early Evening  
Train bound for Yongen-Jaya

The regular procession of lights and sway of the train over the tracks lent a sense of rhythm in the world around him. Pressing back into the not-padded-enough seat, Akira slid a rook over and hit ‘End Turn’. Moments later, a pop-up window informed him the opponent surrendered and it dropped him to the lobby. The TV station trip still lingering in his mind, he brought up the group chat. [Have you guys thought about what Akechi-san said?]

It took a few moments before Makoto and Ryuji joined the chat room, the latter typing first, [The f, man. I just made myself forget about him and now I'm pissed off again.]

A ding played as Ann joined the room, and after a few moments dancing triple dots indicated typing. [I was more worried about Hashimoto. It's almost worse than being discredited.]

Makoto sent next, [What is worse than being discredited?]

Akira sent a quick explanation. [We went to the TV station for the social studies trip. They filmed a debate about the Phantom Thieves.] He sent her the network and initial broadcast time, which looked to be several hours from now.

Makoto’s icon appeared at the bottom, dancing dots there for several seconds until Akira imagined her awkwardly trying out response after response and deleting it. [Well, there's probably no good to come from complaining about it. Plenty of students thanked me for getting Kaneshiro off their backs and there's going to be a lot of people who won't die of drug overdoses now. Those are real lives that we changed in a real way.]

[Thanks, Prez!] Ryuji sent.

Ann sent, [The police are going to be busy for a long time with all those gangers and drug dealers, huh, Makoto-san?]

Trying to keep his topic in the conversation, Akira sent, [I just can't get it out of my mind. Even if Akechi wasn't totally right, he had a lot of tough points. Justice and Free Will aren't things to take lightly.]

Makoto’s icon blinked at the bottom of the chat. [I think it's a good thing that you don't take them lightly.]

[Man,] Ryuji texted, [I thought it was going to be awesome getting another chick in the Phantom Thieves, but you two are just party poppers.]

A beat passed before he sent again, [Poppers.]

Then another before he sent, [Dam you, autocorrect!]

Ann’s icon blinked at the bottom of the chat. [They've got a point, Ryuji. Kaneshiro forced other people to do what he wanted. Just because they're criminals, does that mean we can do the same thing?]

Ryuji wasted no time arguing. [It isn't the same thing at all, Ann! Kaneshiro had cops in his pocket. Who'd have knocked him down a peg if it wasn't us?]

[Kamoshida, too.] Makoto texted. [I was right here for all those years and buried my head because I was so concerned with living up to everyone's expectations that I couldn't even conceive of disrupting things until you all changed his heart. It happened right under my nose, and I did nothing even after Kiriko-san became a husk overnight. Losing the student council president election to her would have been well worth having spoken up.]

Akira pursed his lips. Lacking anything encouraging to say, he tried to skip around the point. [Time goes forward, not backward, Niijima-san.]

Ryuji popped up next. [F yeah! I think.]

Morgana’s claws dug into Akira’s shoulder when the train jostled. “Remember what you yourself said at the TV station, Joker. Sometimes, the Law itself isn’t enough to reach wrongdoers. We’re all doing what we are because of justice that goes beyond law.”

Akira mumbled, “We can also act through channels no one else can see, just like Kaneshiro.”

The guide trapped in a cat’s body huffed. “But we vote. As long as all of us have to agree on a course of action, we won’t fall into the same trap as the despicable people we change.” He smirked. “Besides, you have _my_ brilliance leading you.”

Akira rolled his eyes.

Ryuji sent one last message before leaving group chat. [Don't worry, Ann, everyone. It doesn't matter if it's Akechi or that stuck-up professor. We'll show them all who's right.]


	52. June 10th, Bank Party

Persona 5: Daywatch

Friday, 10 June 2016  
Evening  
Shibuya, Underground

Stepping off the train, Akira pushed out of the stop and up to the walkway where more people churned back and forth but at least had dead zones to stop for a breath. With Makoto still dealing with testing, Ryuji and Ann both still seething from the battering Hashimoto and Akechi gave the Phantom Thieves, and Mishima collating information from the Phansite, he had little to do but study. Maybe somebody disconnected could help clear his head. He slipped his phone out and called Hifumi.

Long rings plagued his ear before she at last picked up, speaking in a low hush, “Akira, I—”

“Pay attention, girl!” a woman’s voice snapped from somewhere in the background on her side. “That bottle would smudge your lipstick. You can have some water after this next set.” Sharp clapping echoed in an enclosed space. “Makeup, are we trying to make her look like a skeleton or the face of shogi?”

“I…” Hifumi cracked, a tremor of too many things piled on top of her in it. “I’m sorry.” The line went dead.

A frown twisted his face and Akira slipped his phone into his pocket. “Whoever’s jerking her around needs a good slap across the face.” His conscious mind knew it was illogical to act like he had any right to Hifumi’s time. She wasn’t his family or his classmate no matter how pleasant her company was. She wasn’t actually his shogi partner no matter how thrilling their games were. And she wasn’t his teacher no matter how brilliant she was.

Akira let out a harsh breath.

Morgana poked his head out of the satchel. “What’s up, Joker?”

Akira scowled. “No tutor today. So much for catching up on math.” He turned for the door and pushed into foot traffic to get out of the Teikyuu Building. Halfway across station square, two men shouted at each other like animals baying for blood.

“Selfish bastard!” a nasal voice yelled.

Turning to spot the disturbance, he noticed a man in a three piece suit grabbing another in a grey sweater-vest with both fists, getting the same treatment in kind. His gravely voice snapped over the quieting crowd, “Selfish monkey, you just want to drag everyone back so they’re all as bad as you!”

That politician making speeches came around the old-style train car mockup and thundered, “That’s enough!” Not stopping at words, he shoulder-checked both, driving them apart. Once they both had their feet steady under them, he snapped at the suited man still clenching his teeth. “The solution to society’s apathy isn’t to replace it with rage. That kind of wild energy can only harm Japan.”

Three Piece Suit pointed at Sweater Vest. “It’s communists like _him_ harming Japan.”

He gestured his hands out at the station square, one of them pointing almost straight at the statue of Hachiko. “Just look at you two. While you were so focused on hurting each other, you took this square intended for _all Japanese_ away from _everyone_. And what benefit did you achieve from it?”

Both aggressors glared at each other, but either the politicians’ words were sinking in or the number of cell phones up taking video were reminding them of shame.

The politician carried on, his voice carrying over the whole crowd but without the ear-piercing volume Hashida-sensei used. “All you have done is inflict scuffs and bruises on yourselves. Whatever party you espouse, neither one of you have honored them by your actions here. Even when not your party, the people of Japan are _not_ your enemy.”

Sweater Vest took a few steps closer to gather a few fallen yellow fliers with red ink, but gave Suit a wide margin as he rushed into the crowd in the direction of central street. Three Piece Suit himself glared, but never quite met anybody’s eyes as he descended into the subways.

Morgana gawked from the transfer student’s shoulder. “He’s impressive.”

From the sounds, the crowd had the same sentiment, but once the possibility of fists flying in public was gone the circle disintegrated and the video-takers moved on.

Waiting just long enough for the team leader to retreat to the satchel, Akira ran through the crowd to catch up with the politician before he got back up on his little wood box. “Say, uh… that was really good. You weren’t afraid to get involved bodily, but sent two dudes in a fist fight walking without having to put one in the hospital. Name’s Akira.”

“Toranosuke,” he said with a smile. Against the transfer student’s expectations, it even added a glint to his eye. “It’s a delight to have made a positive impression on someone so young.” He stopped, eyes making a quick scan over the student. “I recognize you…” He snapped his fingers. “The beef bowl shop a couple weeks ago. You were running ragged in there. I’m sorry to have been a contribution to that.”

“Oh, no, you were the most patient person there,” Akira said. “It’s just a really demanding job.”

Peering out from the satchel, Morgana let out a breath of awe. “Ten seconds and he’s even got _you_ trying to say nice things about him. This guy’s _good_.”

“Shh!” Akira hissed at the diminutive team leader. He re-focused on the politician. “You, uh, really have a talent with words.”

Toranosuke let out a self-deprecating chuckle. “Oh, I’m afraid I’m not nearly so talented. Any ability I do have comes from many years of hard practice. But what can one do when you fall but to pick yourself up?” When the student stood silent, Toranosuke asked, “Is politics a field you have any interest in?”

Akira’s mouth opened to give an automatic no, but Hifumi and Morgana both emphasized his need to move beyond his old boundaries. He scratched behind an ear. “I would have said no earlier… I hate crowds and I don’t like speaking to people. But I can’t avoid it, and trying just makes me a liability to my friends.” He gave a nod towards where Sweater Vest walked off. “But you have it figured out. I want in on that.”

Toranosuke gave a small, thin-lipped smile and brushed his white-gloved hands together. “Well, legally I can’t employ a student. But I certainly wouldn’t want to stop a young man wanting to better himself. Especially if he’s willing to assist a few of my speeches.”

Akira squared his shoulders. “I’ll do my best. What do you need, perimeter security? I can get a bat in ten minutes.”

Morgana poked up out of Akira’s school satchel. “He’s even getting you to volunteer to help him? _I_ should start taking notes.”

“He’s why we came this way,” Akira growled under his breath at the team leader.

Toranosuke’s eyes widened and those white gloved hands came up. “Good heavens, no, boy. There’s too much of that outside United Future Party rallies. Just hold up my sign and this old man won’t have to worry about it falling over. Would you mind telling me your name and contact information? I’ll send you the release forms.” He drew his smart phone.

Akira took out his phone. “Kurusu Akira. But I would prefer to go by Akira.” Their phones synced, and a moment later the politician sent a consent form.

As the transfer student filled it out, the politician introduced himself. “Well, nice to meet you. I am Toranosuke Yoshida.”

Akira paused. “No kidding? I knew a Yoshida at my last school. Did a ton of stuff together.”

Nodding, the politician gave the kind of nod indicating he understood but wanted to be the one talking. “I used to be a member of the diet, but that was a long time ago. I haven’t won an election back in for almost twenty years.” He rubbed the thin hair remaining on the back of his head. “Look at me now, I’m indulging in negativity before I’ve even begun. No solution comes of pessimism.” His phone dinged when the student sent back the consent form and he gave a polite smile. “Well, on to business, Akira-kun.”

Stepping up to the box, a handful of people stopped to lean against the planters as he began. Few others stopped, leaving the chaotic stream of people and noise assaulting his ears. But when Toranosuke stood up on that box ahead of him, they seemed a little smaller and further away. His speech went on for two hours, but his resolve held fast despite repeated hecklers.

Akira’s arms grew tired and he couldn’t even hold the sign up over his face by the time the politician stepped down.

Toranosuke dabbed at his forehead with a sweat rag and leaned against the car mockup. “So, Akira-kun. What did you think of tonight?”

Akira bit his tongue when the first thought to spring to mind is that he would have preferred shogi. “Well, you handled the hecklers without having to tackle anyone. Even to that dumbass who said nothing mattered until you were elected.” He leaned the sign against the mockup. “Seriously, who’s going to get elected without a party?”

Toranosuke uncapped a water bottle and sipped. Despite the slump to his shoulders, the upturn at the corners of his mouth seemed genuine. “Well, election season proper is still several months away, but this is a make or break for me. More people are noticing me, but some are starting to view me as a fixture of Station Square like Hachiko there,” he gestured his water bottle at the statue. “If I can get some serious notice, I might finally get elected where I can do some good. If not, I fear I may become a part of the terrain.” He looked to the student. “You think my speech today did a good job on that?”

Akira straightened his glasses and let his arm flop back to his side. “Well… there’s really nothing controversial about ‘the best interests of all’. Nothing specific to it either. Doesn’t sound like a promise to do anything.”

Toranosuke let out a breath, but despite his eyes staring out they looked sharp as ever. “There are many things this nation needs if it wants to do more than survive the near future. Infrastructure, education opportunities…”

“Judicial reform for a system better than the Gestapo at putting people behind bars, as long as they’re not rich,” Akira said, his lips tensing. At the politician’s arched eyebrow, he cleared his throat and looked out at Hachiko. “My old bastard was an authoritarian. I spent a lot of my childhood finding arguments against the kind of society he wanted to make.”

“You are a man of many surprises.” Toranosuke took another sip, then capped his bottle. “I hope to see you again next month.”

Akira shouldered his school satchel and headed to the subway lines to Yongen. “You’ve been quiet for a while, Morgana. What’d you think?”

Those blue eyes stared up at him from within the bag. “I think you ran into a man who has a real way with words. This’ll be good for you.”

Saturday, 11 June 2016  
After School  
Ginza Sushi Bar

The dark wood paneling gave a soft, intimate feel despite the open layout. The last time the Phantom Thieves celebrated, everybody Akira saw was either in a fancy suit or dress. Here a wider variety of suits and dresses represented the middle class splurging on a rare treat. It made him feel less like an ill-fitting transplant, though all of them still being in their Shujin uniforms helped. Having the group gathered around a table in a booth reminded him of the homey feel of Leblanc, adding to the relaxed feel of the place.

Ryuji swallowed, letting out a pleased hum. “I never thought flounder could taste so good. Man, I can see why sushi chefs gotta be in trainin’ for years. This texture’s amazeballs.”

Akira closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. “Please don’t say that word again, Ryuji.”

“Yes, _thank_ you,” Makoto said from her seat next to Ryuji. She looked across the table to the class representative picking at his food with little energy. “Everything okay, Mishima-kun?”

He pulled his head up, but his back remained hunched. “I was just thinking… not that Kaneshiro’s confession isn’t a definite victory… it’s just that I can’t get over the bitter taste in my mouth from that KFTV segment with Hashimoto-sensei calling the Phantom Thieves just another criminal. Is that really how the rest of the world views us?”

Morgana stared at the saucer on the seat in front of him. “Well, we’ve changed dozens of hearts, but the wider world only knows about the two we left calling cards for. As long as we keep on changing the hearts of the corrupt, the world will come to understand. You’ll see!”

Makoto’s back straightened. “You’re right. We can’t let ourselves get disheartened by the limits of others’ vision. Before I met you guys, I was doubting that there even _was_ true justice out there. Now I know for sure I’m _part_ of it.”

“Speaking of patience,” Morgana said, sniffing at the air, “where’s my fatty tuna?”

Ann swallowed her last bite of her crab sushi, then flashed a grateful smile at the waiter stopping at their table to deposit another rectangular tray of elegant sushi rolls. “Right here.” She plucked one for herself, then took another and set it on the team leader’s plate.

Morgana gave her a smile. “Not just getting delicious fish, but being graced with it by Lady Ann’s hand. This day couldn’t get any better.”

Makoto sat back just a little in her booth seat, her face twitching like she wanted just a little more distance from Morgana. When the class representative shot her a questioning look, she tried to wave it off. “Anyway, do we have any idea what we’re going to do next?”

“Video games!” Ryuji said, pumping his hand in the air. “We used to play Mario Kart after track meets. We tote gotta have a tournament, just us!” He looked around and lowered his hand. “Oh, but there ain’t nearly enough room for all’a us at my place.”

Akira swallowed his bite of fatty tuna sushi. A dark part of his mind whispered that these good times couldn’t last, that Hashimoto and Akechi’s condemnation should’ve been reminder enough, that he’d mess something up if it didn’t come from the outside. But he didn’t want this day to end. Making it through a school day without anybody yelling at him, only a handful of people whispering about him as if he were a leper, sharing delicious food with the best people he ever met… the only thing missing would’ve been a couple of the nice people from the parish. Maybe Big K, just to see what the tailor thought of him now. “There’s plenty of room at my pad.”

Setting down his glass of water, Mishima looked at him. “Your pad?”

Akira rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, it’s basically a crash pad for as long as I’m on probation, but you guys are welcome any time you want.”

Mishima gave a hesitant smile. “That’s very generous. I just hope you guys get the recognition you deserve some day.”

Ryuji finished a drink and brought his glass to the table hard enough to splash water back up at him. “One day the whole world will know how awesome the Phantom Thieves are!”

A woman walking by tucked her brown dress closer. “Ugh. I’m hearing about hoodlums everywhere.”

Ann gave the fakest laugh Akira ever heard. “Yeah, that’s all we are. _Huge_ fans of the Phantom Thief.”

The woman rolled her eyes and sped up her pace into another section of the restaurant.

Makoto elbowed Ryuji and all the others joined in her glare. “Idiot!” she hissed. “Have some awareness of where you are, Sakamoto.”

The track star deflated. “Sorry dudes. I di’n’ mean nothin’.”

Morgana cleared his throat. “People are starting to look at us. Let’s make this next roll our last one and go for that change in venue.”

Saturday, 11 June 2016  
Evening  
Yongen, Leblanc Loft

A blue shell slammed into Luigi’s cart, allowing Yoshi to zoom ahead. Ryuji cursed, boosting back into the track but not in time to keep from falling back three places.

When Yoshi crossed the finish line, Ann threw her fists in the air. “Woo! Still the undefeated champion.” She threw herself into a victory dance, skirt shaking and breasts jiggling.

Akira and Mishima both blushed and looked away.

Makoto, having lost to Ryuji the last round, continued browsing the books on the transfer student’s bookshelf. “You’ve got a lot of books on psychology. Is it a family heritage?”

Glad to have an excuse to divert his attention from his sexy, dancing teammate, Akira stood to join her by the bookshelf moved to jut out into the room. “Not really. Well, I guess kind of. My old bastard’s a neuropsychologist, so it’s not like I had a choice but to pick up on things. Most of these books were already up here, collecting dust. For all I know, they’re remnants from whoever owned this place before Sakura-san moved in.”

Makoto took off her braided hairband to brush at her hair. “I know what you mean about wanting to break from the family line but feeling like you can’t. Big Sis went into law, but I always looked to my father no matter how much mom took care of us.” Her eyelid twitched and she took out her phone to check the time, then glanced at the purple light coming in through the windows. “It’s been fun, everyone, but I better get home. I didn’t tell Sae that I’d be out anywhere, so I don’t want to be late.”

Standing up from the chess board he was sharing with the transfer student, Mishima nodded and checked his phone. “Me too. I sent dad a text that I’d be eating with friends after school, but he hasn’t wanted me out late since Kamoshida’s confession hit the TV news.”

Ann pouted, swinging the wii-mote on its strap around her wrist. “C’mon, just one more.”

Ryuji sat down in a chair next to the couch and wiped sweat from his forehead. “At least _you_ had a rest. I’m as sweaty as the end of a run.”

Akira gestured his chin at the windows. “There’s showers and everything at the public baths right across the street.”

Ann pouted, but took the wii-mote controller off her wrist. “I’ll take a rain check. I only use public baths if I can change into clean clothes afterwards.”

Ryuji shrugged and stepped aside to let her grab her bag and leave. He turned a sweaty grin to the transfer student. “I’m the same way, but I hit the gym so often I always got a change in my bag. Let’s go.”

Akira grabbed a change of clothes for himself, then a pair of towels for the two of them. He waved to the team leader. “Catch you later.”

Saturday, 11 June 2016  
Late Evening  
Yongen, Bath House

Ryuji stretched out his hands to revel in the sheer amount of space. The bamboo siding gave a natural feel contrasting the stainless steel in the scrub area. The runner took in a deep breath. “Man, you are sooo lucky to live like, five seconds away from a bath house. Huge bathtubs are great.”

Akira let himself sway back and forth in the hot water, enjoying the relative silence with the runner the only other one in the men’s side. “Except when it’s crowded. I’m kind of shocked every day at all the luxuries in Tokyo.”

Ryuji tilted his head. “Whaddya mean?”

Akira stopped, letting the faint current run over him and took in a deep breath of the warm, moist air. With his glasses sitting on his folded-up clothes, the imprints in his nose felt hot. “Back when I was stuck with my old bastard, we only had those group-style showers. I always waited until real late to take mine because I didn’t want anybody else’s water on me.”

Chuckling, Ryuji looked Akira over. “Heh. Glad you’re over that.” Pausing to glance left, then right, he swam a little closer. “Hey, you an’ the girls’ve been spendin’ a lotta time together, right? Which one’s more your type…Ann or Makoto?”

Akira swallowed, glad the already hot water gave him cover for being red-faced. “Well, Ann’s a very reliable teammate. Even when she doesn’t know what her goal is, she never loses sight of her morals.” Pausing, his throat felt tight and the runner held an askance look. “Also very good with English.”

Ryuji slapped a wet palm over his face. “C’mon, can’t you act like a guy _our age_? This is the prime time of our lives to check out babes. Even if you’re on a diet, there ain’t nothin’ wrong with checkin’ the menu.”

Crossing his arms, Akira felt shaken by how much his friend sounded like his mother. But he would never admit how much sense it made. “I’m not like that!”

To his credit, Ryuji didn’t even flinch. “Dude, I see you blushin’ around Ann. It makes tote sense. Even if she’s kinda domineerin’, the hair an’ body make up for it. There ain’t nothin’ wrong with thinkin’ a girl is hot.”

Akira turned away, but couldn’t put together an argument as the cognitive Ann in Kamoshida’s castle sprang to mind. He’d be repeating Hail Marys for Father Sugiyama for sure.

Ryuji reached up and scratched at his scalp for a moment, his eyes narrowing in thought. “Uh, well. My old man wasn’t the best pa, but he at least gave me the same talk as ma. Bein’ attracted ta girls is how _all_ guys are.” His eyes rolled up for a fraction of a second. “C’mon, seriously. _Somebody_ had to talk ‘bout this.”

Father Motoori’s reading of Genesis sprang to his mind. “Bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh. She shall be called Woman, for she was made from Man. That is why a man leaves his father and mother…” The blush returned as he recited the rest of the verse in his mind.

Ryuji blinked. “Uh, yeah. Like that, I guess.” He slipped through the water to sit next to Akira, his trademark grin returning. “So whaddya think of Ann? As a _girl_? Like, the first time you laid eyes on her.” His boldness and focus made the transfer student’s protestations seem petty. The energy in his friend drew out a need to share something _normal_ for once, and the runner seemed so certain what that was.

Averting his gaze, Akira moved his hands so the runner couldn’t see him getting stiff. “My heart skipped a beat when I first saw her standing under the awning that rainy morning. She was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen.” When Ryuji gave a triumphant laugh, he glared. “And she isn’t _domineering_, she’s _confident_. She’s honest. She wears her heart on her sleeve, knows it, and goes with it. She and Shiho are quite the duo of friends.”

Ryuji let out a proud laugh and gave a playful punch as his grin grew. “I gotcha.” He slipped closer and elbowed Akira underwater again. “Whaddabout Makoto? She’s tough as nails if that whole motorbike of awesome was anythin’ to go by. You should’a seen her throw this ganger right in front of Kaneshiro. Smart too. An’ you can’t say she ain’t a looker.”

A lower portion of Akira’s brain understood what the runner was getting at, but as easy as it was to imagine Ann as sexy and exotic, he couldn’t imagine Makoto in the same sense. It wasn’t her threatening the only friends in his life, her selflessness in the bank balanced that out. But something about her felt too much like him. “I can’t really think of Makoto as being… available.”

“For real?” Ryuji leaned closer, scrutinizing the transfer student like a doctor struggling to discern symptoms of an exotic disease. “I’d’a thought _one’a_ them would be your type. From the way Ann an’ Morgana went on, you an’ Makoto were on the same wavelength all through the bank.” His brows knit together. “An’ it ain’t like she’s goin’ steady with anyone.”

“We’re not _together_, Ryuji,” Akira said, his gaze hooded but body relaxing in the hot water. Even as he said it, he couldn’t explain _why_.

The track star clapped his hands together underwater, causing a shimmer in the water surface above. “Aha! You got a girl from your old town!”

Akira sat back against the side of the tub. “I was never close enough for anyone to leave me.” He wrapped his arms around his knees. “Probably better that way. Nobody to answer to, but nobody to get caught up in my morass of problems.”

Ryuji punched the transfer student in the arm. “C’_mon_. _Every_ dude’s got a type. Like, for me, she’s gotta be nice. There’s no bonerkill faster than a mean girl.” He elbowed the transfer student. “So what’s your type?”

Sitting up, Akira looked over the runner. His breath caught in his throat, then he breathed in and the tickle grew into a laugh. “_You’re_ trying to play the personality guy? The only thing you ever talked about was girls’ body parts.”

“Tch.” Ryuji waved off the statement. “That’s just how you tell the good ones apart. Ain’t like it’s worth datin’ a girl who’s gonna bite your head off.”

Akira leaned against the side of the tub and tried to let the hot water relax him. The runner’s questions brought up a lot of sleepless nights. “What if there’s no girl out there for me?” He rubbed the sides of his head. “No, more like what if it’s better if there isn’t?”

“Dude,” Ryuji began, eyes wide. “_Every_ guy wants a girl. An’ as many problems as we got, even dudes like _us_ deserve a shot at the right girl for us.” The runner held a pearly-white grin and the squared shoulders of a man who said exactly what he meant.

The transfer student stood, but halted short of getting out of the tub. “Hey, Ryuji?”

“Yeah?” came the confused reply.

“Even when we don’t see eye to eye, you always know what you’re going for.” Akira took in a deep breath. “Thanks for not letting me get away with being totally stupid.”

Ryuji chuckled. “Course, dude. That’s what bros are for.” A hand splashed out of the water. “And to be your wingman!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Despol12 for editing the end of the Kaneshiro and Madarame arc.


	53. June 12th, Good Players

Persona 5: Daywatch

Sunday, 12 June 2016  
Evening  
Kanda Catholic Church

Akira set his bishop down, threatening her silver general and king. “My cyberdisk lines up on your governor. Check!”

For the first game in a very long time, Hifumi paused, her green eyes darting from this square to that. “Dark inferno rock!” Her hand snatched her knight, taking his bishop and setting her knight down where it once rested.

Akira sat on the edge of his seat. So close. “Battle droid strike!” He took her knight.

Her pink lips spread in a smile. “Your machines will learn fear!” She moved a rook all the way onto his pawn. “Gurthang Attack!”

Father Sugiyama came to a stop beside the pew, his hands folded behind him and gave a brief incline of his head. “Son, Daughter. I could hear you from the confessional booth.”

Blushing, Hifumi covered her face with her hands. “I’m so sorry, Father.”

The priest allowed a hint of an amused smile to slip out of his ever patient expression. “I understand the spark of enthusiasm is a trait of the young, and encourage you two to continue your rivalry… but somewhere besides the sanctuary? I’m afraid I have other parishioners to tend to.”

Hifumi stood to give a deep bow. “Please forgive our disruption, Father.” Coming back up, she tucked some errant hair behind her ear. “Would you like another game elsewhere?”

With the pair no longer locked in an enthralling escalation, Akira couldn’t help but follow the slender digits, or keep from noticing the strands of long, dark hair she missed. His hands twitched and he shoved them in his pockets. She’d call the cops on him for sure if he did something as weird as running his fingers through her luxurious hair. Mouth dry, he swallowed and tried to come up with an excuse to depart.

Her brows rose and pinched together as those gorgeous deep-forest-green eyes widened just a little.

“O-okay,” his mouth blurted. In the privacy of his own mind, his alter ego bashed his head against the sanctuary wall for sounding like a bludgeoned toddler.

She straightened her mauve dress with a smile and they departed for a noodle hut.

Akira thought he saw someone following them, but when they sat down unbothered he shrugged off the paranoia. He needed to find a way to deal with his crowd anxiety. As they set up for another game, he asked, “How long have you been playing?”

Setting her elbow on the table, she rested her chin in her hand, eyes gazing into the distance. This close to her, he couldn’t help but look into the faint amber ring around her pupils like an island in a sea of soft green. Hifumi pursed her pink lips. “Hm. It’s hard to think of a time I _wasn__’t_ playing. Papa taught me before I started primary school, and I played at school clubs now and then. I think it was the tournament in fourth grade when I started having trouble balancing school work, trying to make friends, and shogi.” Her smile twisted and she looked to the board. “But the things I worried about juggling was homework and friends.”

Akira thought back to the number of kids who made fun of him when he read books without pictures all the time at each of his primary schools. Even though they were the only things he could read his old bastard wouldn’t hit him for. “Shogi wasn’t even a question for you.”

“Yes, exactly.” The twisting of Hifumi’s lips blossomed into a wide smile and his face burned. “What about you, Akira-kun? You’ve only mentioned playing it at your last school’s chess club.”

His stomach did backflips that she remembered such a small detail from weeks ago. He took a sip of the tea he ordered when they came in, glad that they hadn’t gotten the food yet. As much as his insides were bouncing around right now, he feared he’d have tossed everything over the board. Akira straightened his glasses and tried to will his heart to slow down. “I think the first time I played was Tanizaki Middle School, or at least I had to ask for the rules again there. After that, I always wanted another shot at it because it’s always a challenge.”

Hifumi’s smile sharpened and a gleam sparkled in her eye. “Well you know I’m always up for a game.” With that, since she won the toss, she moved a pawn forward. “And so the soldiers of Lothlorien march forward.”

Monday, 13 June 2016  
Morning  
Shibuya Station

Tides of humanity ebbed and flowed in the underground station around Akira. Despite the clean walls and lighting, the chaos of dozens of conversations raised his hackles and he pushed his way through the foot traffic until he spotted someone wave at him from one of the tile-covered support pillars. Eager to get a moment away from being shoved every which direction, he headed for the dark head next to the bad blond dye-job. “Hi Yuuki, Ryuji.”

Grumping, Ryuji kicked at the tile.

“Didn’t sleep?” Akira slipped his hands in his pockets and looked over the runner, then around. Mishima shrugged.

Ryuji’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m still ticked about that damn Akechi. Makin’ us out ta be the same goddamn thugs as Kaneshiro’s drug pushers.”

Akira shrugged and took place in between his classmates as they headed for street level. They still pressed against him in the jostle of the crowd, but having a steady eye on them helped soothe over the prickle of something unknown coming at him. “Nothing to do but prove him wrong through action. Us mulling over it’s not going to change his mind. So you ready to, uh, go… _spelunking_ today?”

Ryuji’s eyebrows shot up. “What?”

Akira groaned, his eyes flitting around. “I’m trying not to be _completely_ obvious in public, Ryuji.” He leaned closer and whispered, “I mean check Mementos for new names.”

The runner maintained the are-you-crazy look. “Uh, how the hell’s anyone s’posed to get Mementos from _spunk_?”

Akira bristled, trying not to note Mishima looking distinctly away. “Hey, it’s underground.”

Morgana popped his head out of Akira’s bag. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I’ve gotta side with Ryuji on this. You’ve got to use clever code words and convene with the other Phantom Thieves first so we know what you’re talking about. You can’t just spring strange words on us out of no-where.”

When his class representative bumped into him, Akira looked over to see Ann slip out of the crowd to join them, taking place next to him as the class representative sped up. “What strange words?”

“Antidisestablishmentarian,” Akira rattled off without missing a beat.

Ryuji and Morgana groaned, but Ann’s head whipped around, one of her voluminous pigtails slapping him in the face. She brushed down her pigtail. “Sorry. I just… think someone’s following me. I haven’t had the hair on the back of my neck stand up like this since I was avoiding Kamoshida.”

All three boys in the group stiffened. Ryuji shielded his eyes despite the group still being underground. “I bet there’s tons o’ perverts that’d creep on you, Ann. You’re an actual model.”

She shivered. “That feels like a backhanded compliment.”

Seeing nothing distinctive but the tides of dark-haired people, and a small scattering of different school uniforms, Akira grumbled. “What’s your stalker look like?”

Ann glanced over her shoulder again and bit her lip, her expression reminding him of his own trepidation in crowds. “Dark blue hair and even taller than you. I think he’s wearing white, but I’m not sure.”

Slipping off his school satchel, Akira handed it to Ryuji and drew his phone. “I’ll keep the chat up, tell me if I pass him.”

Morgana popped his head out. “Don’t do anything rash, Joker.”

Ryuji yawned. “Whyzzit gotta be some big deal so early?”

Ann shot him a glare. “Thanks for caring so much.”

“I’ll take care of this,” Akira said before pushing into the crowd. When someone pushed back before he could even spot Ann’s stalker, he started having second thoughts. An elbow jammed him in the ribs. Akira backed up and readied a fist when his phone buzzed in his other hand.

[That's him!] Ann sent.

[The bowl cut?]

[No, the guy you backed into.]

Akira spun around and spied a tall, blue-haired boy with a white jacket get on the escalator fifteen people behind Ann. Akira shoved through the tide of humanity. Whoever it was must be hyper-focused on Ann, because even after pushing to within three people and getting called out twice for pushing, Blue Hair never looked back.

The tide of people broke onto Central Street. Ann stopped just past a street light, Ryuji and Mishima forming a wall between her and Blue Hair.

Akira decided not to wait until Blue Hair pushed through. Two paces away, he grabbed Blue Hair’s wrist and thrust it into the small of his back, directing him to the concrete wall. “Okay, first, you’re going to leave the nice lady alone. Second, you’re going to explain why you’re perving on Ann.”

Blue Hair fumed. “How dare you sully my artistic aspirations with such base accusations! And unhand me!”

Unwilling to make a scene, Akira released.

Ryuji approached and the rest followed. “Whaddya want? You get your jollies stalkin’ our classmate?”

Blue Hair drew himself up to his full height and sniffed with disdain. “I’ve done no such thing.”

Ann jabbed a finger, pushing between the two boys. “You’ve been following me since I got off the train!”

Blue Hair took her pointing hand with both of his. “This world is filled with greys, but I sense passion in you that shines brighter than the sun! Even flustered, your beauty puts the magnificent Camille Doncieux to shame. You’re the woman I’ve been searching for my whole life!”

Ann’s cheeks blushed and she gaped.

Akira made a mental note to steal that line, and put away his phone.

Blue Hair tightened his hands over hers. “You _must_ let me paint you!”

The image of Blue Hair stroking a paintbrush over Ann’s naked body sprang to mind. Akira cringed and mentally kicked himself for thinking of his friend like that. He swallowed, his mouth feeling parched and pants tight.

Mishima put himself between Blue Hair and Ann, shoving Blue Hair’s hands away. “Who do you think you are?”

Blue Hair brushed back at the bangs hanging over his eyebrows. “You’re right. In my artistic zeal, I’ve forgotten my manners.” He stepped around Mishima to face Ann directly, and gave a flourished bow at the waist. “Kitagawa Yusuke, second year at Kosei High. I am a pupil of Madarame-sensei.”

Mishima took a step back. “_The_ Madarame? The painter of a thousand styles?”

Ann’s eyes widened. “Oh, I know that guy! He was on Good Morning Japan on KFTV.”

Morgana looked at the group from Akira’s satchel. “Didn’t we hear that name from Mementos?”

“Akira, Shujin. Second year.” Akira glanced at the track star, taking a small bit of comfort at the subtle shrug hinting that the runner didn’t know who the artist was either. Akira knew the name, but not from anywhere good. Assuming it was the same guy. “For those of us who grew up in the mountains, who’s that guy?”

A honk from the street drew their attention and the rear window on a shiny black car opened. “Yusuke-kun!”

Kitagawa grimaced, but drew back from Ann. “Sorry, Sensei! I’ll be there in but a moment.” He dug into the pockets in his uniform jacket for a moment before producing a handful of tickets on glossy paper and thrust them at Ann. “Things have been very busy, having to reschedule Madarame-sensei’s exhibition, but I will be there for the opening this weekend. I beg you to come. Please tell me if you will be my model.” He cast a narrower gaze at Ryuji and Akira. “I’ve my doubts about your interest in fine arts, but to show my honest, artistic intentions I even extended tickets to _you_.”

He dashed for the car and Akira spied a cushy, dark leather interior.

Morgana growled from his satchel. “That shady character dared go after Lady Ann? I’ll remember him!”

Ann tucked the tickets into her school bag. “Well, now that I actually talked with him, the guy only seems a little eccentric. Not like creepos who typically proposition me on the way to school. And an art show sounds fun. A better scene than hospitals or dark subways.”

Akira blinked. “Typically propositions you?”

Morgana gawked up at her from the satchel. “Don’t tell me that suspicious character’s theatrics have snared your heart.”

“What?” Ann jerked. “No.” Her blue eyes met Akira’s. “What is it?”

He shrugged. “Probably nothing. Let’s get to school.”

Monday, 13 June 2016  
After School  
Shujin, Class 2-D

Akira flipped back through his history book to fill out his handwritten notes stuffed on notebook sheets between the pages.

Before he could finish the first chart, the sound of Mishima standing up interrupted the usual noise of winding down conversations and hurried students packing to go. “Kurusu, clean up duty.”

Akira bit down a curse. Everybody got end-of-day cleaning duty eventually, but getting called out for it by his family name when the representative _knew _he didn’t like it just felt rude. Finishing the timeline plot for history class, the transfer student packed up and turned to the representative, who lingered with his jaws clenched together.

The other students, glad to weasel out of being volunteered for the job, packed up and scattered for home or other study locations. Mishima himself stayed standing next to his desk, looking down at his phone. The keys of his virtual keyboard clacked, paused, then clacked as he read and shot out text messages. After a few moments, he slipped his phone in his pocket and looked up. “I was just getting in touch with Ryuji. We need to check out that shady artist who made moves on Ann this morning.”

Morgana poked his head out from the desk. “That’s right! As gentlemen, we have to protect Lady Ann’s honor.”

Akira pointed to the desk at the left side of the room where she sat. “If you wanted to talk with her, she was _right there_ a few minutes ago.”

Mishima’s hands slid further in his pockets and he looked away with a blush on his cheeks. “I… I didn’t want to worry her. Or bother her, in case that Kitagawa guy really _is_ just some eccentric artist.” He pulled out the ticket. “I know it happens sometimes, Ann mentioned guys coming up to her with bad pickup lines once a week. And usually outside school. But if he’s willing to stalk her before you _made_ him just talk in the open, that could be a red flag.”

Akira tilted his head. “I thought dudes being too chicken to come right out to girls they liked was the Japanese standard? I didn’t start reading manga until recently, but I didn’t exactly see any different even in fiction.”

Mishima took his right hand out to rub his arm, though his dark eyes remained fixed on the floor and the blush all over his face. “Well, people do dumb things in fiction to draw out the story. That was ninety percent of manga like Ranma one-half. But this is reality. What if today was just the first day we spotted him?”

Morgana peeked out. “That’s right. What if he’s been stalking her for days? What if he still does it tomorrow? We need to defend a lady’s virtue.”

Akira took his glasses off to rub the bridge of his nose. “I think she’s plenty capable of defending her own virtue.”

Mishima shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Isn’t that all the more reason we should check on him, make sure Ann doesn’t have anything to worry about? He might even been an unwitting stooge for Madarame.”

Straightening his glasses, Akira shrugged. He and the class representative cleaned the chalkboards, erasers, and got halfway through wiping the desks before Ryuji slid the classroom’s back door open. “Yo, Speedy.”

Ryuji grinned and gave a nod. “So we’re gonna be checkin’ on Ann’s creeper?” When the other two boys affirmed, he closed the door and helped them finish classroom cleanup.

After setting the brooms in the cabinet, Mishima turned to the others with a square to his shoulders the transfer student hadn’t seen since the first week of school. “Okay, guys. If we’re going to look up Madarame and his apprentice, the best place to get started is the internet. Journalists and social media influencers both love talking about big name artists, and Madarame’s one of the biggest. The Newspaper Club has a computer bank, so we can get started in there.”

Akira wiped his glasses clean and put them back on. “It wouldn’t be weird to bring outside people to use club equipment?”

The representative shook his head. “Most articles are chosen by personal interest, so it’s pretty frequent to bring friends in to help research.” At the track star’s shrug, he led them to the Newspaper Club in the practice building. A little smaller than the academic classrooms, a bank of computers took up the wall to the left. To the right sat tables with power and plugs for internet cables, a bulky printer machine in the far right corner. A set of shelves overflowing with books, magazines, and newspapers separated the computer third of the room from the tables.

A girl with black, shoulder-length hair looked up at them from the computer closest to the door. Akira gave a lazy wave. “Hi, Ishikawa-san.” When she gave a shallow nod and turned back to her web search, he shrugged.

Ryuji leaned close and whispered, “She’s _cute_. Classmate?”

“She’s in class 2-C,” Mishima said, drawing his hands from his pockets.

Ryuji sidled closer to the class representative, his eyes flicking from the girl to Mishima. “She a fan?”

Mishima grabbed the track star and pulled him further away down the hall and hissed, “You can’t tell someone you’re the Phantom Thief just to get a date! The Phantom Thief needs to be better than that. It’s about ringing the truth out of the darkness and justice for the downtrodden and—”

Ryuji rolled his eyes and pushed the representative back. “Yeah, yeah. I gotcha, fanboi.” The three all took a deep breath to try to work through the frustration and entered, passing Ishikawa to the computers on the far end of the room. “So whadda we gotta do?”

Mishima brought up a web browser. “Not sure yet, I’ve never looked for apprentices before. Maybe angry art collectors? As long as we keep an eye out for anything, we’ll stumble across something important.”

Scrolling down through ads and a trash magazine article about the Wonders of the Artist of a Thousand Styles, he found a small online news article mentioning Kitagawa in last year’s Kosei High cultural fair. The next ten minutes proceeded with little better luck until Ryuji cringed and blurted, “Eff, man. Died before first responders arrived on scene. That means it wasn’t instant.”

Mishima and the transfer student both looked up from their computers to read the article on the runner’s screen. “What a way to go.” Mishima pulled up his phone and typed into it. “Sawamura Hitoshi.” Setting his phone back on the table next to his mouse pad, the class representative slumped. “It’s like _everyone_ likes this Madarame guy, and almost nobody even notices Kitagawa.”

Akira straightened his glasses. “That’s suspicious. _Nobody_ gets famous without making at least a few enemies. And what up-and-coming art students wouldn’t want to promote themselves through their big-shot master’s name?”

Mishima scratched his scalp. “Well, it’s not like many articles spend time on the students. Until they break away and start doing their own works, the master is really the only one producing things to write about.”

Ryuji pushed back from the computer bank. “This would be _so_ much easier if we had a list of his goons.”

Akira closed his browser and rubbed his eyes under his glasses. “They’re apprentice painters, Ryuji.”

The track star shrugged. “Whatevs. Listen, rep,” he paused to look down to the team leader hiding in the transfer student’s bag, “leader. It looks like there ain’t nothin’ here. If we’re gonna spend all day trackin’ down somethin’, it should be that dude who survived Owner.”

Mishima blinked. “Survived owning what?”

Akira felt all his muscles tense at the jerk who shrugged off every simulated shot and cost him a ridiculous amount of money resetting. “Cheater in Gun About. He’ll run and dodge so it’s not so easy to see, but he’ll take a full magazine of bullets and never lose any health. Worse of all, he uses a goddamn _number_ as part of his name. _In place of a letter_.” He gestured a hand at Ryuji. “He introduced us to Gun About to practice, but this douche bag’s been ruining peeps’ time for months.” He glanced to see Ishikawa still there, minding her own business. Just to be sure, Akira spoke in a hushed tone, “Ryuji texted us about it one night and we thought the player would make a good change of heart. We just can’t figure out who he is or how to beat him. Only one player’s ever beaten him, so that guy – The King – is our only clue.”

Corners of his mouth curling up, Mishima held up a fist. “How can I help?”

Ryuji shrugged. “Well, most peeps I talk to are pretty sure he ain’t playin’ at home. Home cheaters are too easy to kick, and Gun About’s done it before. But arcade player IDs are procedurally generated, so the same ID code might not be the same person. Or you just have to hit a different arcade an’ you’re griefin’ peeps from a new ID. So console bans can only be temporary.”

Mishima rubbed his chin. “That also might mean our man could be at any number of arcades. That _might_ make it harder to find him, but could also make it easier to find witnesses who’ve seen the real player.”

“Right,” Ryuji said with a grin. “You ain’t the only one who’s good at investigatin’. Now I confirmed he’s never been to the Gigolo in Shibuya, and the dudes there I talked to are pretty sure nobody’s seen him further west.” He brought up his phone and brought up a map with Gun About locations speckling Tokyo. “So he’s gotta be at one of these places east of here. It’s only thirty places—”

“Thirty?” Akira shouted.

Ishikawa shushed him.

Ryuji cleared his throat. “But between the three of us, we can definitely hit thirty places in a day. Since Makoto’s busy with StuCo an’ Ann’s visitin’ the hospital, I fig’ we might as well. Not like we’re goin’ to Mementos today.”

Akira had no argument to that and didn’t feel like braving the loudest school library ever, so he followed the others to Shibuya, where they broke up to investigate ten each of the arcades with a Gun About station.

Monday, 13 June 2016  
Early Evening  
Akihabara, Electric Town

Akira dashed through the crowd, holding his school satchel close so it didn’t swing when he made sudden changes of direction. People packed sidewalks as well as the road closed for a car show. He had no idea what the appeal was to painting gaudy representations of anime characters on an expensive car, but it made for a crowd almost as thick as Shibuya. He almost made it to the Gigolo Arcade when the diminutive team leader cried out from his bag. Akira slipped into a computer hardware and tool store across the street.

Morgana flopped part-way out of his school satchel and heaved breaths in and out. “You… really need to… learn to slow down.”

“Sorry, but I don’t know any other way to crowd-run,” Akira said, knowing how awkward he sounded. To give both of them some time to catch their breath, he browsed and bought a set of small tongs for Morgana’s lock pick crafting.

Before he got back on the road, he got a text from Mishima. [Finished. Two of my arcades were closed. Family emergency and installing new machines. Any luck at your end?]

Ryuji texted back, [I'm on my last one. Crossing my fingers he's here.]

[I'm on arcade number seven. I REALLY hope that jerk is here.] Akira glanced at the guide trapped in cat form hanging his head out of the satchel. [I think Morgana would have preferred to switch places. Since Ryuji introduced me to crowd running, he's been less interested in following along. Maybe it would have been better to send him with Ryuji.]

Morgana harrumphed. “Yeah, but then nobody’d be there to help you out of a scuffle on the street. You still have crowd phobia problems.”

Akira rubbed the back of his neck, pausing inside the door to let a clump of middle schoolers gawking at a show car move on.

[Got it,] Mishima texted back. [I lost one of my metric screwdrivers, so I'm going to stop by Takanashi's place in Electric Town to get one. Maybe get some more laptop RAM.]

When the representative strode through the front, Akira chuckled and texted, [Heads up!]

Mishima made an inquisitive noise, then stopped a moment before walking into the transfer student. “Oh! I didn’t think you had an arcade this close.”

Akira closed the text app and brought up the map. “I thought I was going to trip over it by now, but I’ve never been to Akihabara before.”

Slipping his phone in his pocket, Mishima rubbed his neck. “That’s right, sometimes it’s easy to forget how it’s like to navigate these boroughs for the first time. I used to come here all the time when I was in middle school.”

Morgana popped his head out of the satchel. “You weren’t going to that maid café that smells like syrup, were you?”

Mishima’s face did a remarkable impression of a tomato. “What? No! Just the computer shops!” He mumbled something about being too young. “Anyway, there’s a Gigolo arcade just down this way.” He paused to buy that replacement screwdriver and led the transfer student down the street to the arcade across the glitzy cars.

Three old men sat there scanning the pachinko machines at the front as if they could divine some great secret from the pattern of pegs. That or the anime girl in skimpy clothing painted on the backboard.

The inside was quieter than Shibuya’s Gigolo arcade. The ambient music was the same, but fewer clusters of people milled around. Each group held their own conversations. Most of the half-dozen people in this smaller arcade focused on their own games.

Except a middle schooler in a blue varsity jacket and bright red hat stepping to keep a smaller middle schooler trapped against a crane game filled with snowmen almost as misshapen as the Junes bear mascot. “Pay up. It was fifty yen per one-headshot kill.”

The smaller boy with a disheveled blue shirt sniffed. “B-but I only have three hundred yen left. What about the subway ticket home?” He tried to dodge left.

Blue Jacket intercepted the escape maneuver. He didn’t raise a hand, but did bodily push the smaller boy back into the crane game. “You’ve got a transit pass, you don’t need to buy a ticket.” After the middle schooler handed over the coins, Blue Jacket stepped back and the small boy fled.

The transfer student stepped aside and watched the little shakedown artist count his coins, then pause when he realized someone watched him. Blue Jacket glared up at the transfer student, bringing the _Get Smoked_ embroidered across the top into good enough light to read. “What?”

“What a little turd,” Akira muttered.

Morgana popped onto his shoulder and shot him a hooded stare. “He reminds me of you.”

“Hey!” Akira paused, realizing talking to the team leader in front of a civilian might not be a good idea. He cleared his throat and tried to look neutral, but interested. “Who’re you?”

“Just another gamer.” Blue Jacket’s eyes flicked to Mishima for just a moment, then he stepped away from the crane game. “You can have your money eater.” He trotted off to Gun About, dropped coins in the feeder slot, then did so at the next station. He picked up both pistol controllers and started playing.

Despite being a kid – or using two pistols at once – his game reflexes were preternatural.

“Even dual-wielding is too easy?” Mishima’s eyes widened.

A college-aged kid kid came to a stop against the crane game next to Mishima. “So The King is back. Man, I wish I had time to stay, it’s always a trip to watch him.”

Akira texted Ryuji, [Found The King at the Gigolo in Electric Town.]

“_The King_?” Mishima curled one hand closed and glared at Blue Jacket’s back. “The King is supposed to be the strongest player, someone to look up to. But when strength doesn’t go with control, it’s just another form of tyranny. Along with all forms of power come responsibility. Even participation in games comes with acceptance of an implied code of conduct for the better experience of the whole.”

One of Blue Jacket’s player screens turned red and a giant bullet-hole with spiderwebbed broken glass faded in across the screen. He glared at the class representative for a moment before his expression returned to bored disregard. “You’re not just boring, you’re a loser.” He turned back to the game and tossed a grenade around a stack of timbers in the outdoor lumber yard of the game map.

Mishima’s jaw flapped open twice before he hunched and slunk away.

The phone buzzed in the transfer student’s hands and he looked down to see a text from Ryuji. [Just got on the train. I'll be there in five or six minutes.]

More people trickled around in the minutes that followed. Despite the transfer student’s discomfort at the press of bodies from the ring forming around the young middle schooler, it wasn’t enough to miss the spiky blond hair when Ryuji joined the crowd to gawk. When the game round ended, he elbowed the transfer student. “That’s tote him! Let’s play a game.”

Blue Jacket turned, flashing that _Get Smoked_ hat for only a moment as he stared at them with bored eyes. “Do what you want.” He turned back to his game and tapped a card so he could continue playing with two controllers at once.

Deciding to back the runner up, Akira stepped up to the far controller. Still not knowing much about guns, all he could be sure of was it sat larger in his hands than the rifle controller the runner wielded. He picked the closest thing to a sub-machine gun the game list presented, but Blue Jacket curb stomped them for five minutes.

“You’re totally The King!” Ryuji hopped back and forth on the balls of his feet. “I can’t believe it. You gotta take out Owner with us.”

Blue Jacket stared for a cold moment before turning back to the game. “_I_ can still beat him, so I don’t care.”

Ryuji boggled. “But if you help us out, we could knock ‘im down a peg.”

Blue Jacket tisked. “So that’s what you wanted. You’re not just an arrogant loser, you just wanted to live through someone else’s victory.”

Akira set down his controller and stepped up to the runner’s side. “He’s invincible. Cheating to ruin everyone else’s time.” He slipped his hands in his pockets.

Blue Jacket tilted his head up just enough to make the arch of one eyebrow. “What do you care? Just don’t play.”

“Eff this. I’ll find him somewhere else.” Ryuji stormed out.

Akira pursed his lips. “Good guys don’t let bad guys win.”

Blue Jacket smiled. “You’re dangerous. Like the quiet ones.” The kid dove both his characters into cover, then turned away from his game to scrutinize the transfer student. “You sound like the Phantom Thief who took down that nasty coach, and all those gangers on the street.” A beat passed. “You a fan too?”

Akira spread his hands and widened his stance to give Blue Jacket a good view of his Shujin uniform. “Changed more than just the coach. Six people including the principal who were covering things up went to jail. Just goes to show change never stops with just one heart.”

Blue Jacket’s eyes wavered and the transfer student knew he won. “Even so, teaching you to beat that cheating loser won’t be easy. What would I get out if it?”

Akira pointed at Gun About. “The more people like that cheater that are there, the more cheaters and toxic people that will be here. And the fewer people that are fun to play against that will stay. If you can’t teach us how to beat him and kick him out of Gun About, tell us the name of his player.” Akira brought out his phone and brought up the Phansite on the browser, then showed it to the kid. “The Phantom Thief will change his heart.”

Blue Jacket chuffed, but a corner of his mouth quirked up. “I don’t know if I can help you. Yeah, he played here a couple times, but I don’t remember the cheater’s name.” He tapped a foot. “Tell you what. I play here a lot, but sometimes it _would_ be nice to have a good player. Or at least somebody else willing to learn. How about I teach you, and once I find out who it is, we beat him together in the game and you take his name to the Phantom Thief so he doesn’t make all the fun people leave?” He gestured for the transfer student’s phone.

Akira handed it over.

The kid entered his contact information, then bumped the phone while turning it around to hand it back. “Who’s Queen Togo?”

Akira snatched his phone.


	54. June 13th, The Good Doctor

Persona 5: Daywatch

Monday, 13 June 2016  
Evening  
Yongen, Leblanc

The jingle of the bell interrupted Akira’s heavy footfalls. The restaurateur splashed sudsy water in the sink, the sound of the television was just loud enough to be audible above the sound of work. With the dimness of the light outside, the cozy ambiance of Leblanc’s interior seemed bright.

Unlike evening of most days, a customer sat at the coffee bar. His familiar brown peacoat hung on the back of the chair, his steel briefcase ajar and a ream of paperwork spread out before him. Akechi turned a page in a printed packet thicker than his thumb, eyes still reading as he picked up his coffee mug for a deep sip.

Akira sat down at the closest seat available, the paper spread keeping him a chair away. “Evening.”

Akechi’s eyes flicked up from his papers for only a moment. “Amamiya-san. It’s been a while.”

Akira couldn’t decide if that smile was genuine or the false sort on a person who didn’t want to say go away out loud. “Working overtime again?”

Chuffing, Akechi paused for another sip of dark coffee. “You wouldn’t believe the deluge of nonsense that a company’s legal department can innundate you with.” His lower eyelid twitched, then he took a breath out and in, back to all smiles.

Sojiro trotted closer, drying his hands with a threadbare brown towel. “What can I get for you?”

Akira dug into his pockets. “One cup of the decaf blend.”

The restaurateur tossed the towel over his shoulder. “Sorry, kiddo. We’re out of decaf today. Too close to closing to brew another siphon. A cup of regular?”

The transfer student couldn’t feign displeasure at the news. Coffee smelled great, but tasted more bitter than medicine. He couldn’t understand why it was so popular. “Just a can of tea, then.”

Sojiro looked like he’d been gut-punched for a moment. “Your choice.” He retrieved a can from the fridge the transfer student helped stock that morning and handed it over, then gave a nod at the kid working on legalese. “Have a good day.”

“Oh, it’s not my day to be worried about,” Akechi said with a just-a-little-too-wide smile. “But as Reverend Martin Luther King Junior said, we are tied together in a single garment of destiny. Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.”

“Maybe,” Akira said. “But even if there are natural laws as Locke suggests, they have to be discerned by humans and that makes one man’s justice another man’s injustice. The consequences society chooses to apply provide the force behind its morality. When man’s only feedback to determine right action is the result, how can it be determined if there even is a true and objective right?”

Flexing a gloved hand, Akechi scrutinized the transfer students with red eyes just a shade dimmer than Makoto’s. “Hume said that our very nature and interdependedness reveal the moral requirements of human life. Being the species of invention humans are, we construct some of what is right while some are results of what natural laws require humans to be.”

Akira swallowed a sip of canned tea and decided an infuser might be a good investment in the future. “Didn’t Kant write that what is just is defined by external actions?”

“He also wrote that lying corrupted human moral capacity and was wrong under all circumstances,” Akechi said, capping his pen. “If something is always wrong, that has to indicate a deeper structure of right and wrong than just what the observable outcome is.”

His phone buzzed and he slipped it out to read the incoming text. Akechi began packing his papers. “As interesting as our discussion on the knowability of justice is, I’m afraid that I have pressing paperwork downtown.” He picked up his coffee cup and downed the rest of it before locking and hefting his steel briefcase.

When Akira noticed Sojiro standing back by the coffee bean jars, drying already dry hands, the transfer student tilted his head. “What?”

Sojiro set the towel down. “Oh, just a little surprised to see two young men going back and forth about moral philosophy. I don’t think I heard that much enthusiasm when I took ethics back in university.” He made change for the can of tea, and closed up the register. “Getting time for me to be heading out. Don’t stay up too late.”

Tuesday, 14 June 2016  
After School  
Shujin, Front Entrance

The haunting string instruments of the Goa’uld theme sang out of Akira’s phone. With Makoto the only one he gave that ringtone, he opened the call as soon as he got his shoes straightened around his ankles. “Tokyo complaint department, if you have an issue I can get you to Keith Maipathi Waitbut.” He followed the stream pushing him to the front gates.

The student president growled. “I’ve heard of people who prank call, but never people who prank _answer_.” Papers shuffled on her side. Something heavy and plastic thudded against a wooden surface. “Um… you said before that you’d be willing to help me learn more about the student body. Since Yuuki-kun hasn’t sent any new Mementos targets, would you mind? Based on our interactions thus far, we both have some learning to do about the main portion of society.”

Akira pressed his lips together and stepped to the side to lean against the wall, out of the way of the stream of foot traffic. Now he felt bad for opening with a joke. Why couldn’t she have a sense of humor? She had the same go-get’em attitude as he did in the Metaverse. “What were you thinking? Checking out a different arcade?”

She let out a short breath. “I think I had my fill of video games in that celebration tournament on Saturday.”

“Still mad Ryuji called you too nerdy for video games?”

Flustered noises emanted from the phone for a few moments. “No. I enjoyed it, I just don’t feel like more video games right now. I was thinking of another entertainment topic. Have you left for home yet?”

Akira looked out at the slowing stream of students fleeing Shujin for home or jobs. “I’m right at the gates. Should I meet you at the Aoyama-Itchome station?”

“That’s fine.” Makoto rushed out a door and into a wider space with more background chatter. “I’ll meet you there.”

Akira put away his phone and headed to the station entrance. A few minutes later, Makoto stepped out of the trickle of students still departing Shujin. She glanced right, then left to the transfer student leaning against the tiled wall a couple steps from the escalator. She brushed her dark brown bangs out of her eyes and stopped to recover her breath. “A-Akira-kun.”

When the first thought that came to mind was what her hair might feel like, Akira grit his teeth and gave himself a mental kick. “H-hi.” He put his phone away and slipped his hands in his pockets. “So did you have a destination in mind?”

She straightened her pleated skirt, her red eyes flicking back to his. “My first thought was the Toyo Cinema, but they only have a few recent movies. There’s certainly excitement for those, but the favorites people talk about tend to be older ones that made a big impression.”

Akira nodded. “Scarlet’s on the way of my train transfer in Shibuya, not far from station square.” He thought back about movies. “Should we get Ryuji in on this? Last time we ran together, he went on and on about movies.”

Makoto’s shoulders slumped. “I actually already texted him about it. He wasn’t interested. Said he was busy practicing in Shibuya. Yuuki-kun’s indisposed with an investigation of his own.”

Akira rolled his eyes. “_Practicing_ he says.”

Those crimson irises burned into him, though from the small muscles in her face and neck he couldn’t be sure if Makoto was angry or just annoyed. “He _is_ by far the best marksman in the group. You can’t say it doesn’t work.”

He shrugged. “Fair enough. What about Ann?”

Makoto’s shoulders pinched up and her gaze fell to the tiled floor. “She looked stressed, and I haven’t really thought of a way to apologize to her.” She looked up at him, her eyes as intense as before but the brows drawn up together. “I never _did_ take action before Shiho. Or even with Kiriko-san.” She rubbed her arm. “I never even tried to talk to Ann, I just assumed those terrible rumors must have some seed of truth and left her on her own.”

Akira pushed up his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. “I’m starting to think Ann has a magical power to make people not talk to her. She’s not the type to hold a grudge or she’d definitely have taken something out on me.” He shifted his lean against the wall. “And probably turned Kamoshida into frozen little chunks.” His eyes drifted up. “No, actually, she knew he’d suffer by letting him live.” He shook his head and straightened his glasses. “Well, might as well get going.”

The two hopped on the train to Shibuya, then navigated to the Scarlet music and movie rental company on central street. Makoto beelined to the dramas, then browsed down the other aisles. “There are a lot of romantic comedies here.”

Akira scratched his neck, following a few steps behind and glancing over the gaudy covers of women in bright clothing none were brave enough to wear in real life. “Yeah, they’re kind of like the Goa’uld.” At her head-tilt, he explained, “Evil race of aliens trying to take over everything around them in SG-1.”

Makoto picked up one movie to browse the back. “It sounds like you’re not a fan.”

“I get the point of comedies, but they’ve never been my cup of tea.” He paused, scanning the titles for Key of Life, but the titles jumped where it might have been. “One of the chief problems being that they perpetuate some rather unsettling stereotypes when those behaviors are put into real life. Women who are vapid doormats and wait for somebody else to solve everything for them but still expect everything to be happy, for example. Or men who stalk girls and keep trying to sneak into their safe spaces like the onsen. And then typically following up with violent beatings that would put a real person in intensive care, if not leave crippling brain injuries.”

Makoto’s head tilted to one side, her crimson gaze searching his for long moments before their phones buzzed. They both drew them to check the group chat.

Mishima’s ID sat at the top of the chat. [Sorry about being so late to get this to you all. I found the name of that one stalker girl at school. The one posting murder fantasies on her blog. They got SERIOUSLY disturbing, and I say this having spent the last month reading about Kaneshiro. Her name is Yumeko Mogami.]

Morgana hopped up to read over Akira’s shoulder. “People may say things they don’t mean, but if this was bad enough even your class representative felt sick then we probably better change her heart before talk online becomes action offline.”

“Agreed,” Akira said before adding the tallies to the chat.

Makoto nodded at him, but texted the group anyway, [I'm for it.]

Ryuji and Ann joined the chat, only a few seconds passed before they added their assent.

Mishima posted next, [Also got a couple requests on the Phansite for a Hayashi Matsuko. She's a college student who's been seducing male students and breaking their hearts. I got the feeling something more is going on, because one of the posters said she killed him. No way to follow up, though. Maybe it's just a guy with a glass heart.]

Three dots danced next to Ryuji’s ID. [What a total bench.]

A moment of silence descended on the rental shop. Makoto even bit her lip to keep from laughing.

[Bench,] Ryuji sent.

A moment later Ryuji texted, [You know what? F my phone and its autocorrect.]

Akira glanced at the team leader, got a nod in response, then typed in, [Make that a yes from me and Fearless Leader.]

Ann’s ID blinked, three dots dancing next to it for a couple seconds. [So can we do these names today, or would we have to wait until later?]

Ryuji sent back, [Wait, aren't you working today?]

[Uh, no. I'm still at Shujin studying with Akemi. I need to get caught up after all the time I spend on shoots or at Shiho's physical therapy.]

The team leader didn’t give a committal gesture, but when he looked at Makoto, the upperclassman straightened. “I’m ready.” She focused on her phone. [We can meet you at station square in five minutes if you want.]

Ryuji texted, [Sounds like we're all ready and willing. Ping us when you're here, Ann.]

Fifteen minutes later, they gathered in the dim lobby of Mementos. Ann leaned her head left and right to stretch out a muscle. Pistol in hand, she walked past the phantasmal blue door of bars with no sign she noticed it. “Ready to go change some hearts?”

Makoto gave a sharp nod.

Rifle in his right, Ryuji lifted his left fist into the air. “Eff yeah! We still got, like, two gangers left over from last time.”

Mementos, Hayashi’s Distortion

“Die, thieves!” Hayashi’s Shadow floated above them. The enveloping ashen robes it wore made it look human. All four of its hands clasped at its front, fingers dancing through small, precise gestures. The six, mirrored spheres floating around it reflected the unnerving red glow of the shadow-pockets here in Mementos, their orbit speeding up and expanding. “Die, like the bastard who put poison in me! It’s my right to infect them right back!”

Morgana backed up. “Everybody brace, it’s going physical again!”

Akira grit his teeth and dismissed Pillar of Heaven, the floor-to-ceiling column of darkness and flame retracting into the carved obsidian. In its place formed Orthrus.

Ryuji smirked and Kidd just sped up. When the six orbs lashed out at them like enraged comets, the ship-surfing Persona juked left around one and flew up above another.

His smirk disappeared when a violet beam shot out from under Shadow Hayashi’s hood and hit Captain Kidd square in the skeletal face. Ryuji’s jaw dropped slack and his eyes glazed over.

Morgana bared his teeth, face twisted in anger and concentration. Zorro shimmered with wispy blue, the light blazing in its eyes as it focused all its psychokinetic energy into the single orb bearing down on him. It held out its sword and the empty hand, wispy blue energy roaring out of it against the mirrored orb.

It raced closer and closer, sending Zorro scraping backwards, the little feet leaving gouges in the carved obsidian. Unstoppable force came to a standstill against immovable object, and Morgana roared. Zorro’s arms moved in time with his as they smashed inwards, shattering the mirrored orb into dissolving dust.

Akira fired burst after burst from his gun for all the little good it was doing. He wracked his brain for what would help when it resisted curse energy, fire and Shesha’s radiation, much less shrugging off lightning. “Ryuji, snap out of it!”

Carmen danced out of the way of another hurtling orb, and flung an icy bolt at the floating Shadow in return. Ann stumbled, sweat dripping down her face.

Flames sputtered over the obsidian floor as Makoto rode her fiery bike-Persona over the pocket of Mementos. Fire spilled from its blazing wheels, but it couldn’t drift out of the way of a mirrored orb in time. The meter-and-a-half sphere smashed into the Persona. Red flames gushed and thick metal panels buckled.

Johanna vanished in a flutter of blue flames, spilling her rider on the floor. Makoto leaped to her feet just in time for her vision to fill with another mirrored orb.

Akira threw himself against her, knocking her out of the way. “Sui-Ki!” The motes of light coalesced into the shape of an ogre and it spun its double-sword to parry when the mirrored orb smashed through it and kept going.

The direct impact sent Akira tumbling like a rag doll.

“Guys?” Ann called as Captain Kidd returned to the floor, leveling its hand canon at Carmen. “Things just got worse!”

While the others fought, Makoto dashed over the glowing runes. “Joker!”

His whole body burned and it felt like somebody lodged knives in every joint of his left arm. Knowing he couldn’t control his sub-machine gun with one hand, he dug into his coat. “Rider.” He hissed, but kept searching until his hands closed on the shard that guillotine turned Fuu-Ki into days ago. He pulled out the cylindrical shape glowing with green from within. “Here. Wind at least hurt it. If you can take that Shadow down, Ryuji should go back to normal.”

“Wait,” she searched her pocket. “Let’s get you patched up fi—”

He grabbed her hand and shoved the glowing cylinder onto her palm. “Load that into your shotgun. Finish. The. Shadow.”

She pursed her lips, then nodded. She pressed the green-glowing cylinder into her shotgun, then turned on Shadow Hayashi.

While Carmen danced out of Kidd’s razor winds, Zorro split its attention between trying to distract Kidd without hurting Ryuji while hampering Shadow Hayashi.

Dashing to get close enough, Makoto leveled her shotgun at the floating monster bent on destroying everyone around it. “Enough killing and hurting for one day.” She pulled the trigger.

A gale of whipping razor winds howled out of her weapon, sliding around the mirrored spheres and lashing into the towering Shadow.

The beam it held trained on Captain Kidd ceased as it stumbled back.

Makoto gawked at her shotgun until the mirrored orbs began swirling faster around Shadow Hayashi again. The biker-suit-clad girl pulled the trigger again and again, lashing gales roaring from her weapon until smoke gushed from the cuts and impacts on the Shadow from throughout the fight. Darkness bled away from it until only the shape of a college girl remained, coming to rest on the obsidian floor.

Shadow Hayashi looked up at the five Phantom Thieves surrounding her, tears leaking from her glowing yellow eyes. “It’s not fair.”

Morgana kept his crossbow trained on her. “It was bad enough when we thought you were just breaking hearts. What do you think gives you the right to go around infecting other people?”

“There’s no cure.” Propping herself up with one hand, Shadow Hayashi sniffed. “I’ll never be healthy again.”

Akira held his banged-up left arm. “Even if that were true, being hurt yourself is no excuse to spend your life going around hurting others.” He knelt to look her eye-to-eye. “If there is sickness, let it stop with us.”

Makoto lowered her shotgun. “Go to the police. If you cooperate, they’ll be able to find the one who first infected you. That could help save a lot of other people.”

Shadow Hayashi’s head dipped and she sniffed again. “You… you’re right. It’s better to stop sickness than spread it. I… I’m sorry.” Her form faded away, leaving a glint on the floor.

Ann paced closer and knelt to pick it up. “A charm bracelet. Looks like the kind that’s supposed to have three… no, four little gemstones in it.”

Ryuji let out a long breath. “Whoa. That was one _twisted_ chick.” He turned to Makoto. “Since we got a couple minutes before this place collapses,” he turned on her with a calm air before dropping it with a sudden yell, “When the eff did you learn to make my gun shoot magic?”

Morgana rounded on her, folding up his crossbow. “Yeah!”

She turned the shotgun on its side and struggled for a moment to extract the green-glowing cylinder. “Akira gave this to me.”

Ryuji whipped around on the thief in a longcoat. “Effin’ sweet! How many more you got? Any that make stuff shoot lightnin’?”

Akira held up a hand when she tried to return it. “I’ll let you hold onto that.” He tapped his head. “I’m the one with a crowd upstairs.” He gave them a moment to chuckle, but only Ann did. “And that’s the only shard I’ve got. But if it can help out like that one did, I’ll look into getting more.”

Morgana collapsed his crossbow and stowed the squared rod. He looked between Makoto and Akira, his bright blue eyes holding fast on the boy. “Take that medicine. It’ll help, though not as much as if you’d taken it when Rider tried to give it to you. The longer your mind processes the idea you’ve been hurt, the harder it will create pains that take time to recover from. The sooner you take that medicine, the sooner you can take advantage. Remember, everything follows cognition in the Metaverse.” He let out a long breath. “And you two need to stop by the doctor once we’re out.”

Tuesday, 14 June 2016  
Late Evening  
Yongen Station

The train slid to a stop, the old car rattling around them. Akira couldn’t help but notice Makoto clench her jaw and hold her stomach. When the doors trundled open, she stepped out and took a breath of the station air with the same heavy footfalls and rush of air as he associated with himself.

Still holding his arm to keep jostling of his shoulder from making that sensation of hot needles, Akira came to a stop behind her. “Doc’s just a couple minutes away. How bad is it?”

She straightened, but a twitch in the muscle below her eyelid betrayed her struggle to keep everything inside. “It’s not so bad. _You’re_ the one who jumped in front of a giant bludgeon.”

“To help _you_,” he said, a corner of his mouth quirking up. “Besides, Sui-Ki took most of the impact.”

“So did Johanna,” Makoto said, following him to the Takemi Medical Clinic.

This late in the evening, they found Takemi snoozing at her desk. After a sharp knock at her window, she took Makoto back and gave a prescription for painkillers, anti-inflammatories, and no heavy exercise.

Akira sat back in a chair and texted Hifumi, taking the few minutes to reminisce as she did homework and he waited for Makoto’s examination to finish.

The door to the exam room swung open. Takemi followed the student president out. “Okay, boyo. Your turn.”

[Talk to you later,] he promised. Akira followed the doctor into the back and submitted to the usual examination. The exam was quick and almost wordless, but the situation went from unusual to red flag when she got up and locked the exam room door.

Takemi tapped her slipboard against her nose, masking her lower face and highlighting the narrow glare of her brown eyes. “When we made our agreement, I thought I’d be patching you up from one fight. Now you’re carting in more battered friends, all of them bearing the bruises from leather-wrapped batons—”

“We’re not dealing with the yakuza any more.” Akira straightened his glasses to try to give the impression of calm so she’d go about her business and let him leave.

Her fingers only clenched tighter on her clipboard. “Then what?” She stormed closer, towering over the student seated on her exam bed. “What are you stupid, crazy kids getting into that’s bringing you into my clinic day after day with bruises, exhaustion, and in your case in specific an unmistakable look of guilt?”

Scratching started at the door, and the transfer student thought he heard Morgana’s voice.

Takemi ignored the scratching. “I’ve seen injuries like this before when the yakuza would offload people they didn’t want to have records of treatment. Torturing mothers and middle-aged men who owed ten thousand yen. Beaten without breaking the skin and shedding a drop of blood so there’s less clean-up.” She crossed her arms, her shoulders pinched up. “It always escalates.” Her gaze fell away. “And I’m already cleaning up one child. I can’t handle this sudden deluge.” She sat in her chair as if she couldn’t hold her body up for a minute longer.

Pushing his own pain aside, Akira focused on the doctor. Where she had been vibrating with tension before, now enervation sagged every muscle on her frame. “Is Masa still bothering you?”

“No,” Takemi groused. She crossed her arm. “It’s… strange. He had somebody shadowing me most days since I got here last year. They disappeared last Sunday.”

Akira straightened his glasses. “So that midnight visit line worked?” He mimed holding his sub-machine gun.

Her head dropped back as she let out a long breath. “That would only have been a temporary measure. Masa’s too ambitious not to push if he thinks he can get away with it. He’s got gang muscle and knows it.” She pulled herself upright and tapped a key to bring the computer out of sleep mode. “That must have changed when Kaneshiro turned himself in. I’d like to think he got nabbed by the police sweep of Shibuya, but that feels too much like naive optimism.” Takemi stood to retrieve a threadbare sling from a box in the corner, then settled herself back in her chair. “But even if he’s really gone, that only solves one problem. A doctor can’t treat her patients if there’s no trust. Without knowing what’s injuring you kids, there’s very little I can do to treat you.”

Biting his lip, Akira fidgeted with the uniform jacket in his hands. The doctor may be intelligent, but she was too rational and grounded in the regular world to believe he was taking a bruising from monsters in a supernatural mind world. He looked down to break eye contact. “I… I’ve never been good at just walking away from things. I _have_ to believe that’s a good thing. Before I got shipped up here to Tokyo, I stopped a drunk from abducting a woman off the street.” He took a breath as he thought of Ryuji pulling him back in Kamoshida’s office. “I know I’m not perfect and sometimes I need to tone it down, but I can’t walk away from people everyone else has already abandoned to a slow, painful death.” He reached his good hand out for the cloth sling.

Takemi tossed the sling at him. “You need to give your body a chance to heal. I’m certain there are microtears in your tendons, if you don’t take your wounds seriously, you’ll wind up with permanent damage.” She picked up a pen, clicked it open, then scratched out a bill for today’s treatments. “If you’re not going to tell me how you and your friends are getting beaten up, we have nothing more to say here.” Her hand wavered just a bit. “Getting the chance to save Miwa doesn’t mean anything if I have to sacrifice four other children to do so.”

She thrust the clipboard at him and Akira fumbled out his wallet to pay for this session.


	55. June 15th, Venus

Persona 5: Daywatch

Wednesday, 15 June 2016  
After School  
Shujin, Class 2-D

Akira flipped back through his history book to fill out his handwritten notes stuffed on notebook sheets between the pages. With the other students still shuffling out of class, he couldn’t dredge up the energy to fight through them to get to the library just to fight through more students in an attempt to study. When his phone buzzed, he left his book open and pulled up the incoming chat.

Ryuji’s ID blinked up at him. [Hi, dude. I was just thinking that it's been a while since we did some working out. Can't be too prepared for Mementos, eh?]

Glancing down at the team leader, Akira noted the sway of the team leader’s tail. “Not interested?”

Morgana’s ears flicked, but with his head pointed down the transfer student couldn’t be sure if it was annoyance or something else. “Go ahead and practice your running. I’ll check with Nightrider about our name exchange.” He hopped down and slunk out the door. Akira shot a text back to the runner, then to the president to warn her to keep an eye out for their leader. Communications done, Akira changed into his gym uniform, and met the track star behind the gym.

Ryuji bared a toothy grin. “Yo. How you feelin’ about fightin’ the flab?”

Akira poked the runner in the ribs. “I ain’t the old man struggling to reach his old glory.”

Smirking, Ryuji shoulder-bumped the transfer student. “Heh. Watch me wreck your expectations.” His eyes bulged. “I mean, like, in a not bad way.”

An unfamiliar boy snapped, “The hell you doin’ in _our_ spot?”

Akira turned, shoulder-to-shoulder with the runner. “I don’t see your name on it.”

A dark-haired boy with a dark sweatband glared at the transfer student. He shifted his heated gaze to the runner and slipped his hands in his track suit. “What’re _you_ doin’ here? Think you can just start runnin’ with the team again after what you did?”

Akira stepped closer. “What did _you_ do, Takeishi? ‘Cause for all the talk of team spirit, all I see is shit-talking from a coward who did _nothing_ as Kamoshida beat every team but his own into dust. At least Ryuji stood up to him.”

“He couldn’t even punch out Kamoshida,” Takeishi spat. “Yeah, he singled you out, but when it came down to it, all he had to do was push and you went down.”

“At least _he_ pushed,” Akira said, gesturing his head at Ryuji.

The brown-haired guy stepped back with a weak shrug.

Takeishi saw it and whirled on his fellow runner. “The hell you agreein’ with _them_ for? The transfer doesn’t have any business talkin’ shit at all, and Ryuji ruined all of us just for one ineffective swing.”

Ryuji took in a deep breath before howling over them, “Dudes!” He made sure to lower his clenched hands. “Kamoshida’s _gone_ now. We don’t gotta stay stuck on him. Eff, we could bring the track team _back_ if havin’ a team is really what it’s all about. Back for real, not this runnin’ around the back lot.”

Nakaoka’s face reddened with a sudden rage and his hands balled into fists. “And who’d cosign for reinstating the track team, Ryuji? Not _one_ of the faculty would have anything to do with us. You were the only one who broke records, but thanks to that swing you took at Kamoshida all we’ll ever be here is the team that attacked the coach.” He took off at a steady sprint down the outer-grounds path.

Takeishi ground his teeth for another second longer before taking off as well, sending almost as heated a glare at his fellow runner as the ex-track star.

Ryuji let out a long breath and as much collapsed as leaned against the gym wall. “Man, it’s lookin’ like Nakaoka’s gettin’ along even worse than usual.”

Akira quirked an eyebrow. “He just unloaded on you and you’re worried about him?”

Ryuji wiped his nose with the back of his hand and stood up. “Well, yeah. We were friends, before Kamoshida. All of us were. An’ even though we ain’t buddy-buddy now, he ain’t wrong.” He threw a hand out at them as the pair hit the corner and continued running along Shujin’s property wall. “They don’t even got a club room no more. We used to be able to go a buncha places for track or cross-country practice, an’ now the few that still got the heart to run gotta just run laps in this shitty place. A proper team sport ain’t the place for outcasts.”

Akira walked over and gave a playful punch in the runner’s shoulder. “Hey, I saw you running in Inokashira. You love running so much, you adapted. Outcast or no. So could they.”

Ryuji forced a grin that wouldn’t have fooled a five-year-old child, but punched back and stood up. “Well, it’s easier for me ‘cuz I live like right across the street from Inokashira. But thanks, dude. With all the shit goin’ round you, I bet you got it even worse than us.” He looked out at the corner the other runners disappeared around. “Even if I can’t be part of whatever’s up next, it’s not like I want ‘em endin’ up like me. Y’know?”

Akira clapped his hand on Ryuji’s shoulder. “You may dye your hair to look like a dork, but you’re a stand-up guy.”

Ryuji pulled away and ran a hand through his hair. “Hey, this is the sign of a _rebel_.”

Wednesday, 15 June 2016  
Early Evening  
Aoyama, Road to Train Station

Akira’s feet thumped down the road, occasional trucks the only traffic intruding on his thoughts. While the city noise sounded oppressive on most days, like the pressure on his eardrums when diving just a little too deep, it was a welcome relief after Shujin’s library. The noise level alone would have been a minor distraction if his name didn’t keep on popping up. With the distractions he felt like he spent two hours for half an hour of study.

He slowed once the stairs down to the subway came into view. It had been a while since he saw Hifumi last. It would be nice to see her again, for tutoring if not just that sonorous voice and those deep green eyes.

Akira came to a stop next to the wall so the foot traffic would avoid him. His contacts already open to Queen Togo, doubts creeping in. “Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained.” Leaning against the wall next to a storefront of baby toys, he called.

She picked up just after the third ring. “Good day, Akira-kun.”

Akira felt a smile tug at his lips. “Good evening, Queen Togo. Sorry about all those texts late last night.”

A dainty chuckle floated out from the phone. “That was hardly late, Akira-kun. There’s a lot of things to stress about, I don’t want to be one of those things for you.”

That smile widened over his face. That consideration reminded him of Shiho. “So, uh… I know you’ve been kind of busy.” He bit his lip, feeling a knot forming in his gut. “I thought maybe we could play a game or two in the fresh air. Would you like to visit somewhere outside?”

Her voice dropped to a hush, “_God_, yes. The chairs in the calligraphy club feel like rocks and if I have to stare at the inside another studio set, I’m going to start tearing my hair out.”

That knot in his stomach loosened a little. He opened his mouth, but before he could even speak, his mind started telling him why every single place he could think of was a bad choice. Too boring, too dirty, too bad for respectable company, too expensive. “Anywhere you’d like to go?”

A few beats passed where he strained to hear Hifumi’s soft breathing as she ticked through options in her mind. “Rekisen Park is quiet, offers some nice privacy, and has tables we could set up on.”

“Mm-hm.”

“I’ll send you a text for the exact meeting spot as soon as I get there.” She cut the call.

Akira glanced down to the team leader, head jutting out of his satchel but laying on the open zipper. “You coming?”

He rolled his blue eyes. “I don’t know what you see in that game, and if I wanted to see two teenagers getting boisterous about weird stuff I’d stick around more often when you watched Fairy Tail.”

“It’s a great show!”

Morgana shook his head, the shake passing all the way down his spine to his tail. “Just let me off at Shibuya. If I don’t run into Nightrider or Lady Ann, I’ll see you at Leblanc at night.”

They parted ways at the Shibuya Underground and Akira took the train up to Chiyoda. The park outside Tokyo Dome would have been closer, but he figured Rekisen had some other quality she wanted, so he took a bus, texted to let her know he arrived, and followed her directions through the central promenade to a secluded, concrete table nestled in the trees. Despite being off the main walk way and food vendors, Akira spotted a young man in an egg-blue button-down shirt standing over Hifumi in her school uniform. Blue Shirt stared at his hand with a look of awe. He spoke with a breathlessness as if he just ran a marathon, “T-thank you!” He held it up, marveling at the ordinary limb. “I will never wash it again.”

Akira grimaced in disgust as he approached. “Don’t be unhygenic.”

The man in blue jumped in surprise, whipping a glare onto him for a beat before looking back to Hifumi. “Is it true that you pray to God for victory?”

Her eyes widened and head drew back, a pucker to her lips as if she bit a lemon. “Why would I do that?”

The young man jammed his hands in his pockets and drew his phone. “Oh, just lemme get a selfie with you.”

“No unapproved photographs,” Hifumi said, melancholy slipping into her calm, controlled tone. For a moment, she looked as exhausted as the transfer student remembered Ann looking when he first arrived at Shujin. “My mother has me on a strict contract.”

He held up his phone anyway and Akira snatched it. “She said _no_. People like you who act like they don’t understand what consent is make _all_ men look bad. Now respect her wishes and _leave_.”

The obsessive man took back his phone, but thrust a hand at the shogi master. “Do you have any idea who that is? Togi Hifumi, future professional shogi player and most beautiful soon-to-be champion of the third-dan league.”

Akira felt his face warm. She was certainly beautiful, but saying so with a jerk like this still eyeing her like a piece of meat made him feel dirty. “W-well… you’re interrupting a match between shogi rivals.”

Blue Shirt looked between Hifumi’s cool I’m-not-glowering and Akira. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. You really gonna bullshit me that you ain’t here for the _Venus of Shogi_?”

Trying to surreptitiously clean her hand with a wipe, Hifumi stopped. She blushed and clapped her hand over her face.

Akira felt his own face heat up more at the title, as well as the reminder of the artwork the name came from. And the mental image substituting the shogi master for the nude lady. He took off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose, hoping that hid some of his blush. “Look, just because you’ve got nothing but what’s downstairs doesn’t mean she doesn’t have plenty upstairs,” he finished tapping the side of his head.

Blue shirt flashed a lascivious grin at her. “Yeah, I’d say she has _lots_ upstairs.”

She and Akira sighed in time, her face reddening in shy embarrassment and his in shame. He set his glasses back and shot Blue Shirt a glare. “Can we get on with our game?”

Blue Shirt tilted his head and stepped back, then seemed to come to a decision. “You may be for real. Smart of you to challenge her in private because you know how amazing her skill is in public.” He bowed to her twice. “T-thank you so much, Hifumi-chan.”

He scurried off and Akira raised a fist as if considering following after to beat a sense of respect into the weirdo. “Creep. What people think and believe are so much closer to the core of our being than any appearance.” The transfer student sat down across the table.

Flashing him one of those subdued smiles of gratitude, Hifumi checked her phone and began setting up another one of her odd scenarios. “Thank you. I hate being the center of a fuss.” Her face darkened. “Being good-looking isn’t even special. An hour with a makeup and wardrobe team can make _anybody_ look amazing.” She stuffed her hand-wipe into a small plastic bag in her schoolbag. “Men like him proposition me all the time. To be honest, I thought you were one of them at first.” Her visage settled into a warm smile. “But when you knew the difference between a chess and shogi board, I figured you earned a chance.”

Feeling buoyed, he bowed in his seat. “Think nothing of it, Queen Togo.”

She covered her mouth and giggled, the hunch to her shoulders vanishing. “I thought I had found a once-in-a-lifetime shogi friend in Father Sugiyama. He is incredibly generous, allowing me to practice in the church.” Her face reddened. “And he never laughed at my embarrassing habit.” She gave him a relaxed smile. “I count myself blessed to have found another such friend.”

Akira’s mouth drifted open, but for long seconds he forgot how to speak. His lungs froze and his heart played bumper cars in his rib cage. Hifumi, the brilliant and beautiful girl with a _real_ family, who _had_ to have _real_ prospects, put him on the same level as Sugiyama? Part of him felt like floating off the seat, and part wondered what was wrong with the shogi master. He was no better than the pervert openly ogling her.

Akira rubbed the back of his neck, the park feeling hot despite the breeze. “So, uh…” His eyes spotted a book with a colorful cover in her schoolbag. “W-what are you reading?”

She glanced at her bag and reached in to draw out the book and hand _The Lord of the Rings_ to him. “I’ve finished it before, but this is the kind of story with layers of meaning that makes it an interesting read again and again.” She slapped her hand to her cheek, red tinging her face again. “Oh!”

He glanced at the hedges behind him. “What?”

“The last time we went book shopping,” she said. She sat straight and drew in a deep, calming breath. “I found a good translation of _The Screwtape Letters_. Some of the things you said about responsibility and virtue reminded me of it and I thought you’d like to read it. A lot of stories depict demons as purveyors of vice, but he postulated that their prime goals were to minimize Christian virtues and by this keep souls from heaven. Lewis was a very insightful man, I thought you would find it interesting. I’ll make sure to have it for you next time.”

Akira scratched his neck. Plenty of people noted his ability to memorize things, but few ever praised his thoughtfulness. Maybe she just didn’t understand him. For now, he would give her that game.

Thursday, 16 June 2016  
Early Morning  
Shibuya Station

Leaning against the tiled pillar, Akira let the symphonic melody of David Arnold flow through the wired bud in one ear. A handful of students and salarymen scattered across the station platform on the line to Aoyama-Itchome, all either in that standing-half-asleep or absorbed in something on their phones. He turned a page in _Brave New World_.

Makoto hopped off the stairs, at as much a jog as Shibuya’s underground allowed. The powerful jog and dexterous jump in direction set his heart beating in anticipation of a good race. The thudding in his chest didn’t help him ignore the way the white shirt of her summer uniform wrapped around her chest with just enough suggestive power to draw his eyes to it. The even breathing just emphasized the ease of her run, adding to his jealousy of the athletic girl.

_Stop it_, he chided himself.

She came to a stop next to him and gave a shallow nod in greeting. “Akira-kun.” She glanced at the book in his hand. “I see you are also a fan of literature. Anyway, it seems Kaneshiro turning himself in is on everyone’s mind.” She crossed her arms and shifted her weight to her far foot. “Most of the police are just happy to have him off the streets.”

“Most?” He paused his music and closed his book on his finger.

Her crossed arms loosened just a bit. “Big Sis is already on another project, but quite a few prosecutors built their whole careers around taking him down. While his confession helps, the calling card means they don’t get any credit.”

Stuffing a bookmark in _Brave New World_, Akira clapped it shut to turn his full attention to her. He tried to keep bitterness out of his tone, “Build your life around knockin’ others down and your existence becomes all about pain.”

Makoto rubbed her arm, eyes drifting down as she let out a long breath. “They just want to get rid of the toxic people in society.”

“So did the judge who pronounced me guilty without even giving my rep the chance to call someone in my defense.” Akira held a hand out to her, palm-up in an effort to show it wasn’t intended to be aggressive. “Well, so was I when you first started stalking me.” She blushed, but he continued, “I didn’t go after Kamoshida because I wanted him to become a nice guy. I didn’t even believe the change of heart would happen until his confession.”

She snapped straight, her brows knitting together and crimson gaze boring into his. “You _knew_ he would change.”

He sighed and leaned his head back until it thumped against the tile. “I knew _something_ would happen, but I’d have been okay if he had a mental shutdown.” Just to break her gaze, he looked over at one of the electronic posters advertising some movie with Risette, rotating into some old guy in a weird paint style. The pillar prevented him from turning away from her without making it obvious. “That stalwart champion of justice you looked for when you baited me to the student council room? That was Ann. When the chips were down and Kamoshida’s Shadow was vulnerable, _she_ was the one who let him live.”

Makoto shifted, one hip jutting to the left as her eyes scanned his face. “But you changed. You even asked me for help delivering names of hearts soon-to-change in the Shibuya–” her eyes darted around them, “–clan.”

He tucked his book under his arm. “Somehow I got a second chance. I never knew what it was like _not_ to have everyone treating me like I failed before I even started. For the first time, I could be someone not like my old bastard.” He shrugged and slipped his book back out, but returned his focus on her. “Everyone deserves a chance to make a turn to the better. Otherwise, everyone gets pushed to the worst they can be. If there’s no forgiveness, _everyone_ is condemned eventually.”

Makoto fidgeted with her pleated skirt. “For someone who says he wasn’t a good person, you sound like a genuine reformer.”

Akira rubbed his neck, feeling some heat on his face. “Well, if we don’t try to fix the small things, what hope do we have for the big ones?”

Makoto nodded, her hands releasing the pleats of her skirt. “Speaking of big ones, do we have any big names to change? I knew Kaneshiro would be big, but had no idea just how much an impact across the city he would have. It’s nice to clean up more of his…” her eyes flashed left and right, “…underlings, but I feel antsy to get out there against another _real_ target.” She even bounced from foot to foot.

Akira felt a smile split his face.

Morgana poked his head out of the transfer student’s satchel. “Not even a week after the last and already looking for the next heart to change. I’ve pulled together a _great_ team, huh?”

Akira rolled his eyes, but let the corners of his mouth turn up. “Don’t let that head get too big, fearless leader.” Wind rushed through the tunnel and the waiting students stood for the line to Aoyama-Itchome.


	56. June 16th, Out of His League

Persona 5: Daywatch

Thursday, 16 June 2016  
After School  
Shujin, Front Entrance

Fumbling a little with his left arm still in a sling, Akira leaned against the shoe lockers to straighten his heel with his one good hand. Before he could get his other shoe off, his phone buzzed. A text from Makoto to the group chat apologizing for being held up with student council business. He shrugged and fought his other shoe on, tucking in the laces, then followed Mishima out the front gates. A flash of blond pigtails brought them to a stop. “Hey, Ann. What’s up?”

Even Mishima paused the incessant tapping on his phone and glanced up. Ann clasped her hands behind her back, making her breasts push against her shirt. The class rep blushed, and both boys averted their eyes, but Ann continued without any sign she noticed their discomfort, “Since we’re not going anywhere,” her blue eyes glanced to his sling, up, then to Mishima, “did you guys want to check out Madarame’s exhibit?”

Morgana popped his head out of Akira’s satchel, devastation in his voice, “No… he _couldn’t_. Don’t tell me that shady Yusuke guy’s stolen your heart, Lady Ann.”

“What?” She drew back, disappointment as well as anger in her tone. “No! I was just noticing with your sling, there’s nothing more we can do… _there_. So we should do something in the real world.” She handed them two tickets. “Madarame had pretty nice artwork in that TV special. I mean, Kitagawa already gave the tickets.”

Akira shrugged. “I still think we’ll find more targets in Mementos, but there _was_ this homeless artist I ran across who said Madarame drove him out of the art world. Maybe there are more clues in the real world.” Between Takemi’s and Morgana’s orders, he was out of combat until the sling was gone. At least last evening with Hifumi gave him something to challenge himself on.

Mishima stepped closer to give departing students more room, and tapped a knuckle against his lip in thought. “Might also give a lead that you guys can’t get in Mementos. Most of the articles I find on the internet only go on about what a nice or eccentric guy Madarame is, or how amazing his scope of style is. Even the article on one of his students committing suicide by train last May was filled with commiseration. And the only thing I could find about the apprentice guy was an article from Kosei High’s Newspaper Club about their art scholarship recipients this year. Super aloof, but also no sign of foul play.”

Morgana popped out of Akira’s bag, paws on the transfer student’s shoulders. “I believe Joker. If he says there’s something fishy about Madarame, then the old man’s just hiding his crimes behind closed doors.”

Akira pulled the chat up on his phone. “Makoto might want to go. That seems more her scene.” He tapped a quick invite, adding the location and time.

Ann smirked. “Thinking of taking her out for a night on the town?”

The transfer student blinked, unsure how to place her tone. “Makoto’s just a very reliable teammate. I’ve only been to history or science museums through school, so she might actually know what’s up.”

Ryuji trotted out of the front gate, making a beeline for Ann. He gave a brief wave to the others. “Somethin’s up?”

Akira switched his phone to his sling-hand and held up the ticket Ann gave him. “Art exhibit, Ryuji. Remember? The one Kitagawa gave tickets for on Monday?”

Morgana brushed at one ear with his paw. “Appreciating fine art builds character, Reaper. This could be an excellent team-building event. What kind of lame phantom thief couldn’t tell an original from a replica?”

The transfer student’s phone buzzed and he ignored the bickering to read Makoto’s reply. [I'd love to see an art exhibit. I haven't been to one since dad died. How many of his apprentices will be there?]

“Makoto’s in,” Akira blurted into the argument. When Ann cringed, he gave her a raised eyebrow. “Something wrong?”

“He only gave me four tickets,” Ann said. “I didn’t even think about Senpai.”

Morgana stretched out on Akira’s shoulder. “Well, _I_ think Reaper should definitely come. He is in desperate need of culture.”

“I bet he has plenty between his toes,” Akira said with aplomb.

Ryuji bared his teeth to reinforce his glare. “Aw c’mon. I wash my feet after runnin’. At least the cat don’t know better.”

Morgana’s tail stood straight out. “I am _not_ a cat!”

Mishima raised one eyebrow.

“It’s affectionate bickering,” Akira said, “I assure you.”

“Based on the gaps in your conversation,” the class representative said, his eyebrow arch receding, “I’m sure he’s got to be saying _something. _But I’m not sure if it’s any better to argue like bitter siblings in a Korean soap opera or get into a shouting match with a cat who can’t talk back.”

“Ah, whaddeva!” Ryuji spat. “Stupid you and your cat.”

“Claws!” Akira snapped at the hint of sharp points in his shoulder. Once the team leader settled back down, Akira checked her question and texted the student council president back, [I think just Kitagawa, the guy who gave us the tickets.] He added a note that the team was antsy to get going. That done, he slipped his phone back in his pocket. “So Makoto’s going. I’m not texting her back to cancel. She can have my ticket if you all want in, it’s not like I _need_ to see an art gallery. Ann’s got to go, she’s the reason he gave us the tickets.” He paused and looked her in the eye. “Unless you want us to tell him to buzz off on your behalf?”

“No! I want to go.” She twirled her finger through the tip of a pigtail. “Just the idea sounds mature,” she finished with a smile.

Ryuji scratched his head. “What’s the big deal about a buncha pictures stuck on a wall? That sounds like starin’ at ma’s screen saver all day.”

Groaning, Akira brushed his free hand through his hair. “Then go investigate Shibuya or look for The King on Gun About or something. We’ll investigate the art exhibit. Four tickets, four people, problem solved.” His phone buzzed. “Makoto says she’ll be done in fifteen. This is good, you guys can take a dive even if I have to sit today out.”

Ann’s eyes widened. “We can’t go without you!”

“You can and should,” Akira said, walking them to the vending machine nook outside the front gates. “We need a big win to prove to the world the Phantom Thieves are just crusaders, not criminals pushing out criminals.” He lifted his arm in a sling and frowned at the feeling of stiffness resisting motion. “I may be out of commission today, but with Makoto you still have four. That should be enough for a good dive through Mementos.”

Morgana gave him an inscrutable look. “I don’t like the idea of leaving you out, Joker.”

“You’re the only vital one in Mementos,” he shot back. “You’re the one who can safely get them in and out. Between you four, you should be able to handle anything you come across. But the Phantom Thieves still need to make progress.”

Mishima, his eyes on the road, stepped out and waved back towards the school.

A moment later, Makoto jogged in, breathing from running all the way out of school. She gave a nod to the 2-D class representative, then looked over the others. “Okay, everyone. I’m ready to fight those Shadows.”

After quite a few exchanged glances, Ann grunted and held out her school satchel for Morgana. “_Fine_. Don’t aggravate that sprain, okay, Akira?”

He nodded.

Following the transfer student down a longer route to the train station, Mishima waited until after they were out of eyesight and earshot before leaning closer. “You texted Prez that they already decided to go into Mementos, didn’t you?”

Akira shrugged. “Ryuji had to wait out almost all of Kaneshiro’s palace, even after helping us get there. He was _pissed_, but he grit his teeth and got through it. If he can do it, so can I. Trying to hold everyone else to a different standard is what my old bastard would do.” He turned to his class representative. “So no promising leads _at all_?”

Mishima rubbed the back of his neck. “Nothing but those bullies I already texted you guys about. There’s more requests every day, but most of them are the petty kind Ryuji mentioned were…pointless.” He adjusted the straps of the school satchel hanging on his left shoulder. “It might take a serious journalist to get the real dirt. I’ve been pretty lucky, but I’m still just a high schooler.”

Akira elbowed the class representative. “Hey, you’ve been doing really good for us. If you’d just go talk to Shiho, she’d be proud.”

Mishima stepped into a small delivery side-street to get them away from the already sparse foot traffic. He faced the transfer student straight on for the first time today, jaw set, but stopped short of raising his fists. “I haven’t done _nearly_ enough to make up for what happened to her.”

Rubbing his temple with the fingers of one hand, Akira let out a sigh. “Kamoshida’s the one who r—hurt her.”

“It never would have happened if it wasn’t for me!” Mishima bellowed, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “_I’m_ the one who deserves to be stuck in a hospital.” His arms shook. “She was _everything_ to me. She was the only gentle thing in Shujin. She was sweet and patient and her heart was so big she was still automatically kind to everyone, even at that rotten school.” He sniffed, and snot glistened beneath his nose. “She was strong when she hugged me, warm when she smiled, and a sight to behold when she threw herself into volleyball.” He wiped at his eyes, but tears traced down anyway. “Now all that’s gone.”

“Hey,” Akira snapped to get the class representative’s attention. “We’ll take down that tax fraud ring or whatever skeleton Madarame’s got hiding in his closet. It’ll be the perfect moral victory after Hashimoto’s condemnation of us on TV.” He stepped closer to pat Mishima on the arm. “Then you can go make up with Suzui-san. Ann says she’s walking two meters without assistance now. It would mean a lot to her.”

Mishima wiped at his face. “To Shiho, or Ann?” He slumped against the wall next to the transfer student.

“Both.”

Mishima gave a derisive snort, but he stood a little straighter. “I don’t feel like I’ve any right to try to get my girlfriend back when I’ve been such a terrible boyfriend.”

Akira let out a long breath. This would be so much easier if the class representative would figure out which girl he wanted to be with and just go, but he couldn’t just dismiss the point. “I guess that brings the question to what is a good boyfriend? Or girlfriend for that matter.”

“Well…” Mishima rubbed his arm. “Shiho was beautiful, certainly, but that wasn’t what got me hooked.”

Akira raised an eyebrow. “I think Ryuji would have something different to say.”

Mishima let out a frustrated huff, then wiped at his face, looking a little more collected. “I think Ryuji-kun is stuck on the superficial aspects that draw attention because he’s never experienced the things that people decide to make it a relationship for. Patience, that ability to listen for just a few minutes and make you feel like your existence _means_ something.”

Akira slipped his hands in his pockets, his thoughts circulating back to the girl who gave him an affirming smile in the cafeteria when he said he wanted to be a doctor. “Warmth.”

Mishima stood straighter, a light sparking behind his eyes. “Right! Passion, that makes you feel warm and comfortable.”

His face blazing, Akira coughed into the back of his hand.

Mishima blushed too. “Not _that_! I meant like a companionable warmth. A way that, just by being around her, even in the dead of winter, you feel cozy.”

“Right!” Akira said just a little too quick. The exuberance Hifumi overflowed with when she had the chance to clash the Togo Kingdom against his Legion of Steel came to mind. As well as the mental image of her standing on a giant scallop shell, sans clothing. He shook his head.

Mishima stood up from the concrete wall. “Thinking of Ann?”

Despite himself, he thought back to a dream with Ann in lingerie wrestling him to the ground. Akira couldn’t deny she was hot by any measure, but… cuddling? Sitting together on the bed and just chatting about anything under the sun? Lacing her fingers in his and keeping him steady as they walked through a crowd? Tolerating his stupid outbursts and guiding him back to sanity? Challenging him, intellectually as well as physically? “It’s not that she isn’t nice, but… no.” He turned his steel grey gaze on the class representative. “Why her?”

Mishima went red as a tomato and fled to the street.

Akira blinked after. “Oh boy.”

Thursday, 16 June 2016  
Evening  
Yongen, Leblanc

The high-pitched chime as the register popped open brought Akira’s attention out of his homework. The lights dimmed outside, but no scratching at the door hinted at the team leader’s presence. Were they just taking their time today? Did they run into a trap? Akira took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his one good hand, trying to ignore the jittery feeling from the one hanging in the sling.

The bell rang and the last couple of legitimate customers stepped out. “Have a good night.” Sojiro wrote the day’s totals into his phone, then glanced over at the table half occupied by history and math. “Being studious is one thing, but anything can be taken too far.” He paused to look over the transfer student. “Have you been getting enough food and sleep? You’ve been looking a little worse for wear the past week.”

Akira huffed, but his hands felt tense without anything to do. Even his math homework lay completed before him. “Just trying to stay productive.” He brought up his phone and shot Hifumi a quick text message asking if she had time today. It took quite a bit longer with only one hand.

Tossing a brown hand towel next to the register, Sojiro proceeded to the door. “Make sure the stove is out. And get _some_ sleep, kid.” The bell jingled as he pulled the door shut and locked it. His footsteps faded fast, but not too long later, he heard pawing at the door.

Akira jumped out of the booth seat, unlocked and opened the door. “Morgana! Is everything all right?”

The diminutive leader strolled in. “Of course. We changed four people’s hearts in Mementos.” He sat down, tail held aloft. “Nightrider is a lot less reckless when you’re not there to egg each other on. She still voted to continue on to the fifth one, but the gate at the lowest level we can reach still won’t open.” Morgana hopped up on a stool and took in the clean little cafe. “I see you’ve been keeping yourself busy. Don’t you ever stop and rest?”

“The dead have time to rest.” Akira packed his school satchel and followed the team leader upstairs.

Akira froze at the top, his eyelid twitching when he saw faint, dusty pawprints forming a trail on the hand-polished wood paneling. “Stop!”

Morgana went tense, his tail twitching high but at least his feet halting. “What, a trap?”

Akira grabbed for the broom and wipes. The sudden motion went further than his tense arm could control and he dropped the canister. “Dammit!” He bent down to get the wipes. “You must’ve stepped in something.” He held out a hand, then realized he didn’t have full use of both hands and leaned the broom against the table. He pulled out a sanitizing wipe.

Morgana rolled his eyes, but trotted closer and let the transfer student wipe off whatever oil he stepped in on the way from the train station. “The operation was pretty touch and go at first. One of those amalgamation Shadows ambushed us in the upper levels. Without you there to swiss-army-knife them, it took a hard beating to break out.”

Akira swallowed and focused on the cat paws to have an excuse not to look at the leader’s blue eyes. “How bad were the injuries?”

Morgana did a remarkable job of waving off the question without having human wrists. He smirked enough to be clear despite the fur. “Funny you should mention that. Even if it wasn’t for the medicine, Zorro isn’t the only Persona in our little band that can heal anymore.”

Akira paused from wiping at the floor and looked the leader in the face. “Between Captain Kidd’s speedy strength and Johanna’s blunt tankiness, I can’t see any… wait, did Carmen gain healing?” He could see somebody as nurturing – even if sometimes matronizing – as Ann learning to heal.

Morgana sat down, smirk still on full. “Nope. Makoto. She said she had a revelation after that first battle and restored the damage to Zorro.”

Akira blinked, but couldn’t imagine Johanna doing anything except busting out fiery missiles. He went back to scouring the floor and hit the broom, which slipped and clattered down the stairs. “Dammit!”

Morgana sighed, but seemed too tired to launch into a lecture. “Akira, you need some help. If you _really_ need to do any cleaning up here like you’re always doing other nights, at least call someone to help.” He yawned. “But I’m beat.” He hopped onto the cushion on the bottom of the bookshelf and curled up.

Akira trotted down to the bottom floor. He slipped his arm out of the sling and reached, taking it slow, but it felt like a car’s suspension spring rested in his arm, resisting all motion. He slipped the canister of wipes into the sling and leaned the broom up against the wall before checking his phone. No response from Hifumi. Not that he’d want to call her over just to make her clean with him.

He pursed his lips, but his mind kept going back to the dust bunnies he was sure he saw under the couch. He brought up his phone and scrolled through his contacts to the one labeled ‘Becky’. He opened the call, and as soon as the Victoria receptionist answered he said, “Is Becky available?”

Yongen, Leblanc Loft

Kawakami-sensei followed him up the creaky old stairs, stopping at the top as she looked over the paneled floor as polished as hand work could get the old wood. “Wow, you keep your place almost as clean as the Ikedas.”

He gave her an askance look. “Are you talking about the dysfunctional family on that ‘lifestyles of the rich’ type show?”

She took her skirt in one hand and held her other over her mouth. “Master shouldn’t be so hard on Becky.” Looking around, she lowered her hand. “So where next? This place already looks spick and span. As surprising as that was for this attic’s start.”

Akira gripped the couch with his one good arm, leaving his other in the sling Takemi gave him. “I can get under the table, bookshelf, and work bench. But I can’t get the broom and mop under this thing.”

Kawakami’s arms dropped and her stance slumped. “Ugh. Just my luck a customer calls who just wants a cleaning service.”

Eyebrow arched, Akira gave her a stare and crossed his arms. “Why, should I be angling for sex like most of the perverts who probably use Victoria?”

Her fists settled on her hips. She didn’t meet his eyes so he knew she realized his point, but refused to concede. “Hey, buster. _You_ were the one who requested _me_.” She crossed her arms just like him. “How’d you find out about Victoria, anyway?”

“Classmate,” Akira said. No way would he mention Ryuji by name, especially not after the loudmouth finally forgot the whole escapade. “He chickened out at the last minute.”

Kawakami nodded, her stance relaxing a little. “I can see Mishima-kun doing that.” She caught him tensing and let a little smirk on one side of her mouth. “You don’t hang out with many of your classmates. There’s only a few it could be. Are you… keeping in touch with your old friends?”

“_What_ old friends? The few dudes I used to hang out with ghosted me when I was arrested.” He reached his good arm out for the couch. “One meter out should be enough to clean entirely underneath.”

“Ugh. Slow down, kid,” Kawakami said, but lifted her end and helped him carry it out the requested meter. When he picked up the broom, she paced around to snatch it. “You’re still hurt. Geez, kid, don’t you know how to take it easy?”

“Idle hands make the devil’s playthings.”

She stared at him for several seconds before turning around and sweeping. “You’re not at all like your record made you out to be, you know that? I’ve been teaching for three years so I’ve seen a lotta kids. All of them have their tells, but you’re probably one of the hardest to read. You have a conviction for assault, but you chat with the class president. You stormed Kamoshida’s office the day of that girl’s jump, but you’re never late to class. Your edges are so rough they’re serrated, and yet you defended Suzui-kun when she wasn’t there to defend herself. And from your last essay, justice is very important to you.”

Akira crossed his arms tighter. “Where no one else will uphold justice, that should just be a call for all present to stand up that much faster. The kenpeitai terrorized Japan until enough Japanese refused to live under their thumb of the world’s most brutal tyranny.” His eyes swung up for a moment of thought. “Well, and the allies carpet-bombing the military until there wasn’t enough of a kenpeitai left to keep up the iron fist.”

She chuffed, but Kawakami’s mouth smothered a smile instead of a frown. “You must read a lot. I didn’t know about the kenpeitai until I took history in college.” She knelt to sweep the dust into a dust pan, then dumped it into the garbage pail.

Akira dipped a mop in a small plastic bucket. “Oppression and standing up to it was a recurring conversation topic in my family.”

She forced a giggle, but at least it sounded better than one of Ann’s fake laughs. “You and your mother never talked about housecleaning techniques? Most parents are eager to offload the housework onto the kids.”

Mouth pressing into a thin line, Akira tried to decide what would be the quickest way to get her to lose interest without having to elaborate on much. “You said you read the file sent to Shujin. Did you not notice mother and the old bastard had different addresses?”

Kawakami set down the dust pan and took the mop. With her shoulders squared and eyes still searching his, even that laughable maid uniform couldn’t take away the resemblance to Officer Ichijou. The way both of them stared, filed and sorted and compared him to some mental model built from someone else. “I just… can’t understand how someone so young could be so cynical, not just about adults in general but both of his own parents. Parents teach _everyone_ something. If you didn’t get any valuable life lessons from your father, at least your mother—”

“Never thought past who she was going to bang next,” he bit out. He could almost feel the rain soaking his Tanizaki Middle School jacket. The humiliation so long ago still clenched his hands into trembling fists despite the tension in the hand in a sling. He stalked to the corner where he kept the cleaning supplies and threw the broom against the wall, where it bounced to the ground with a clatter. “Never even considered giving up her old ‘profession’,” he snapped with a sneer. “Not for the old bastard, and not for me.” He knelt to snatch up the broom. “I am _nothing_ like her.”

Kawakami set down the dust pan. “She…” Her eyes grew wide. “While you…!” A shiver passed through her before she crossed her arms and took a step back. “I… I didn’t mean to pry.”

Akira set the broom against the wall. “I’m _not_ like her,” he said, face burning as fragments of his steamy dreams with Ann percolated up in his mind. Then the ones he was starting to have with Hifumi. “I’m _not_.”

Kawakami took the mop. She wouldn’t quite meet his eyes. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have pressed. It’s just… as earnest and important as justice is to you, you called a maid service.”

His arm in a sling felt tenser than before and he twisted it to try to work out the muscles. “You’re here to do the cleaning I can’t. It’s not like you’re not being paid.”

Her strained smile could’ve cut steel. “Becky… _does_ need the money.”

His phone buzzed and he pulled it out to see a text from Queen Togo. Akira took some distance to make sure he read in privacy, only to see, [Sorry, busy with errand for mother. Not available tonight. Also sorry for being so late to reply.]

He sighed, his shoulders and eyelids feeling heavy all of the sudden.

[It's okay. You've got to take care of your own.] He stared at his sent message for long moments before deciding it wouldn’t switch to _read_ while he stared at it.

“Everything okay there, Kurusu-kun?” Kawakami called from the mop bucket. She gave a teasing smile. “Lover’s tiff?”

He couldn’t hold in all of the snarl that snapped onto his face, but he composed himself as fast as he could. No sense denying the facts. “Don’t make fun of me, Sensei. I’m not boyfriend material.”

Her smile evaporated, her spine straightening as she stood up to look him over. A guardedness replaced her easygoing energy. Kawakami’s dark brown eyes met his with a searching intensity he’d never seen from her before. For a beat he wondered if the square to her shoulders was for her or him. “Nonsense. There’s all sorts of guys, and all sorts of girls that go for those guys.”

With the other Phantom Thieves recovering from a run in the Metaverse and his only other outlet for intellectual stimulation busy, Akira turned his phone to sleep and plugged it into the charger. “Bad guys like me don’t end up with good girls like…” He shook his head. Hifumi, Ann, Makoto… Every girl he could think of was out of his league. They had better prospects than him.

“Like who?” Kawakami prodded.

“Anyone,” he said as the atmosphere pressed down on him. Akira sat back on his bed and took off his glasses to massage back the sense of growing headache and fatigue. A yawn worked its way out of his mouth.

Friday, 17 June 2016  
Early Morning  
Yongen, Leblanc Loft

Akira’s hand fumbled for his phone as _Battle at the Pyramid_ blasted out of it. As much as he wanted to enjoy the score to Stargate, the tangle of his sheet felt even tighter than most mornings. Never being one to lounge in bed, he extricated himself and stumbled to the work bench to turn off the musical morning alarm. Retrieving his glasses, he looked around to note the room looked different than before. “Morgana? Does anything seem different to you?”

Morgana hopped onto the arm of the couch. He sniffed twice in the air. “That cleaning lady you hired really does take pride in her job, huh?”

He checked the faux recycle box for palace trinkets covered with discarded newspapers. With no sign of disturbance, he looked across the rest of the room. “Yeah, I guess she gets the job done.”

Morgana hopped to the table at the corner by the stairs. “She even cleaned over here, and the stairs. Getting it this good would’ve taken more than an hour to finish.”

Akira had to admit the not-cat was right. He pulled on his Shujin uniform. “No time for dallying in the morning. Come on.”

**Author's Note:**

> Another thanks to RedVelvetKitty for editing the Kamoshida arc, but had to end beta reading due to real world time constraints. If you would like to help contribute to this story, any feedback is appreciated. Especially if you would like to act as a beta to check plot, characterization, or just bounce ideas. PM on FanFiction or email to my username at gmail.
> 
> And a big thanks to commenters. Constructive criticism helps refine the craft, and it's always great seeing what people like or think of the characters and story.


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